Bought And Sold
by frostygossamer
Summary: In a matriarchal US, two young brothers go their different ways. Years later, the lives of two strangers converge in an unexpected place. AU Sam/Dean, eventually mildly M, warnings inside. COMPLETE
1. Not A Man's World

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, its fandom, its characters or anything connected to them. I do not make money or profit in any way from this story.

Warnings: forced marriage, enslavement, prostitution, cross-dressing, mention of female-on-male non-con, eventual accidental wincest - but none of it OTT.

A/N: RL aggravations have meant it's ages since I posted anything. But I've been poking and prodding this thing on my laptop for quite a while now. I finally decided I should go ahead and start posting or I'd never finish it. So here goes...

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Bought And Sold (Chapter 1: Not a Man's World) by frostygossamer

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The United States of Columbia, or USC as it was often known, had abolished male-slavery decades ago. Although men in the USC were now nominally free, sexism was rife everywhere and federal laws still prohibited men from owning property or voting in state elections. This was never likely to change, because men were considered inferior to females in all ways, physically, emotionally and intellectually. For their own safety, it was deemed necessary that they continue to submit to matriarchal control throughout the federation.

Kansas, one of the constituents of the USC, had only been a moderately prosperous province since the abolition of male-slavery ruined its agricultural economy. Although a relatively liberal state, they were obliged to honour federal law so, even there, a man could still be flung in jail for an 'antifeminist' crime such as impersonating a female or even smart-talking an important woman. In some states things were even worse.

In the dirt-poor rural town of Lawren, in the underdeveloped northern region of Kansas, lived impecunious widower John with his two young sons. John had struggled to raise his boys alone since his missus, the children's mother Mary, had sadly lost her life in a house fire. That was back when her youngest boy was still no more than a baby.

In dying, the young matriarch had left her little family without a breadwinner. John survived by taking in mending and doing odd jobs, but it was tough bringing up two useless non-girls on a widower's mite. He worked damn hard, but the work available to a mere man was menial and poorly paid at best.

John's eldest, the bonny but often smart-mouthed Dean, tried to be a good worker and uncomplaining helper to his father. His little brother Sam, however, had turned out to be a bookworm who constantly begged to go to school. Their dad sometimes regretted letting Dean teach Sam to read and write, but he couldn't blame the boy for wanting to learn.

In Kansas, as in the rest of the USC, boys didn't generally receive formal schooling at all. There were, however, one or two private elementary schools that would take them, but only if they could pay for their tuition up front, in cash. Widower Campbell had little to spare.

Everything was to change the day after young Dean turned fifteen, when a recruiter named Bela arrived at the Campbells' humble door...

~o~

The elegantly besuited and official-looking woman standing on the Campbell's doorstep introduced herself politely.

"Widower Campbell? My name is Missus Bela. I represent the 'GoodBoy Domestic Services Agency'," she explained, with a disarming smile. "And I'm in the area looking for capable, obedient, presentable boys to train for domestic service."

The woman had a classy British accent, was smartly turned out and very ladylike. She seemed legit.

Bela told John she had heard from neighbours that he had such a teen boy in his household, rather putting him on the spot. His immediate reaction was negative. He wasn't comfortable with the thought of separating his two sons, but he didn't want to offend the lady with an outright refusal. He asked if he could think about it.

The recruiter turned to leave then, as if as an afterthought, she offered him a lump sum as a one-off payment for the boy. John was impressed. It was a sum ample enough to pay for his youngest to go to elementary school, but he mumbled something noncommittal and shut the door behind the retreating woman.

He leaned against the closed door and sighed.

~o~

That evening, young Sam found his father still mulling over the offer, as he sat in the parlour in front of a meagre fire.

"You can't do it, Dad," he complained. "You can't send Dean away."

John patted his youngest on the head. The youngster didn't yet understand the way of the world.

"Sure, Sammy," he agreed. "We need him at home. But that bit of money woulda been nice, huh? Woulda paid for you to get some schooling, like you wanted."

Sam frowned. "Dad, I wanna go to school SO bad," he said. "But you CAN'T make Dean go away just for me."

John nodded and sent Sam off to bed. Dean, who had been listening to this conversation from the hall, chose this moment to appear.

"I'll do it, Dad," he said trying to sound fine about it. "I'm pretty awesome at the cooking and cleaning around here. Guess working as a domestic'd be a piece of cake."

His dad was still unconvinced, but Dean had made up his mind. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for his little brother, and a bit of hard work wouldn't kill him.

"Lemme do it, Dad," he begged. "For the squirt. So he can go the school. He deserves a chance."

It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. At least one of them would get an education. Dean loved his kid brother and he was glad to shoulder some of his loving dad's burden.

He reckoned they both deserved it.

~o~

Bela came back the next morning to collect Dean, handing over the agreed wad of cash to his father. Something had told her the poverty-stricken guy wouldn't be able to refuse. Sam was out delivering his dad's mending, and Dean hoped he and Bela would be gone before he got back. Dean didn't want to see the betrayal in his kid brother's eyes when he found out his big brother was deserting him.

But, Dean's luck always being bad, Sam came back a little early. Dean was already sitting in Bela's big black sedan with his little cardboard case, so Sam ran to his father, distressed and confused.

"Sorry, Sammy," his dad told him. "But Dean has a chance to get work in, uh, the UQ. We couldn't turn that down, now could we?"

Bela's British accent had inspired that hasty lie. His dad couldn't admit to his naive young boy that he had practically SOLD his brother into domestic drudgery for him. He needed to make it sound like his brother was embarking on an adventure of his own choosing.

Sobbing, the boy ran to his brother, pulling something from his pocket as he ran.

"Got you this," he gabbled, handing it through the car window to his brother, who took it from him.

It was a charm strung on a length of cord, an amulet. Dean slipped the pendant around his neck. He patted it, as it lay on his chest.

"I'll keep it always," he promised, manfully holding back a threatening tear. "And I'll write you, soon as I can."

"Pray for you every night," swore his little brother.

Dean smiled sadly but, as the car pulled away, he didn't dare look back. He hoped this wouldn't be the last time he saw his family.

He could only pray they would be fine without him.

~o~

Missus Bela drove her black sedan through the dusty fields of Kansas towards the crumbling state capital at Topeka. They arrived in the early evening. Dean had never been to the city before. The relatively high-rise buildings of downtown amazed him.

"We going to a hotel?" he asked, hopefully.

Bela chuckled. "No, no," she replied. "The agency owns a hostel. You'll be staying there until a place is found for you."

"Oh," responded Dean, slightly disappointed.

They drove through the centre of town into the business district, and then on to a warehouse district, where foot traffic was thinner on the ground. Eventually they stopped outside a sad-looking building, it's grimy white-painted exterior peeling.

Over the door a battered sign read "GoodBoy Matrimonial Agency" in faded red letters.

"This the right place?" Dean asked, frowning.

"Yes, Dean, it certainly is," Bela responded, cheerfully.

Stepping down from the sedan, she motioned to him to follow. Bela led him through the building, which consisted of a reception area and couple of small offices, out the back and across a yard to a single story building which contained several tiny, sparsely furnished bedrooms. Selecting an unoccupied one, she waved Dean inside.

"This one will do," she said. "This will be your new home until we get something organized for you. Tomorrow you'll have some photos taken. Once they've been sent out, offers will come flooding in. Somehow I don't think YOU will be staying here for long, Dean my boy. You have a very photogenic face."

Dean was confused. "What about the training?" he asked.

He had expected to be given some training in the kinds of chores he would be expected to do as a domestic.

Bela laughed out loud. "Training?" she chuckled. "What you don't know you'll find out soon enough. Some lucky miss will be glad to have that opportunity, I'm sure."

Then she left, leaving Dean sitting alone on a flimsy bed clutching his cheap suitcase. He pulled the amulet out of his shirt and squeezed it in his fist.

"Baby bro," he murmured. "Sure hope this is gonna be OK."

He was very far from sure.

TBC

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A/N: Oh dear. It looks like this agency may not be quite what John and Dean expected. More soon.


	2. Marriage Matriarchal Style

A/N: Dean finds out the true business of the 'GoodBoy' agency.

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Bought And Sold (Chapter 2: Marriage Matriarchal Style) by frostygossamer

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Dean soon discovered that the 'GoodBoy Domestic Service Agency' his dad had innocently sent him to was nothing more than a front. 'GoodBoy' was a marriage broker. Their semi-legal business consisted of obtaining nubile young males to be mail-order man-brides for well-off daughters from what were know as the 'Selective' States.

The Selective States were the members of the USC in which infant gender selection, in other words aborting male babies, had been both legal and common practice. Many of these states had lately found themselves with a decided shortfall in numbers of marriageable males. Shady agencies like 'GoodBoy' had sprang up to cater to that deficiency.

The morning after he arrived at the hostel, Bela picked Dean up early and took him to an andrologist's office for an unpleasantly thorough medical exam. She waited outside, flicking through a magazine, until he was done. From there, they went straight on to a photographic studio.

The studio was a single dingy room above a pizza parlour, a couple blocks from the agency. Bela left Dean in the hands of the photographer and disappeared. The photographer was a scruffy, middle-aged guy with a shaggy moustache.

"OK," he said. "We're gonna start with a few facial and then get some full body."

He grabbed Dean's chin, jerking his face up into the light, and examined him with an appraising eye.

"Won't need no special lighting or editing with you, my boy," he commented. "Look mighty tasty the way you are."

The creepy guy rested his cold, clammy paws on Dean's shoulders.

Dean pulled out of the guy's grasp. "Hey," he objected.

The guy chuckled. "It's OK, boy. Not gonna soil the merchandise."

He took a few conventional portrait snaps of Dean to begin with. That much Dean actually didn't mind. He couldn't remember when he had last had his picture taken. John had shown him a couple baby photos, but he knew his dad sold his mom's camera a long time ago. The guy had bills to pay.

"OK," said the photographer suddenly. "Now for the money shots. Strip, boy."

Dean's mouth dropped open. "Wh-what?" he stammered.

The guy grinned. "Don't act like an innocent, kiddo. The ladies wanna see what they'd be getting. Don't want any wedding night surprises. Right?"

When Dean still hesitated, the photographer put down his camera and started toward him.

"You gonna strip or you want me to do it for you?" he threatened. "Gotta do this thing, one way or another."

Dean suspected the strange guy would probably have enjoyed any excuse to manhandle him, so reluctantly he complied.

"OK. Sure," he said. "Whatever you want, I guess."

He slowly pulled off his clothes, piling them on the floor to the side, until he stood there buck naked. He felt painfully vulnerable, bare-assed and all alone with this weird stranger. Nonetheless, he bit his lip and held his head high.

He faked a cocky grin and asked, "How'd you want me?"

Once the shoot was done, Bela returned Dean to his room at the hostel. He was a little shaken and upset, though, as always, he tried manfully to hide it. All the same, he couldn't help feeling sullied.

Dean Campbell was NOT some piece of meat. Right?

~o~

Dean didn't see Bela again for a while. He was simply told to stay in his room and wait until he was called for. Meantime, meals were brought to him on a tray by a skinny kid who never spoke. Dean wondered how long he would have to wait for something to happen.

Then, early in the second week, Dean was ordered to the boss-woman's office. The elderly woman was at her desk, tiredly thumbing through a folder of paperwork, when Dean entered the room. Glancing up, she affixed a phoney-looking smile, steepling her fingers.

"Ah, Dean Campbell," she began. "Looks like your time with us is almost over. It seems we have signed a contract on your behalf this very morning. You'll be leaving for Appalachia early tomorrow. You will meet your new missus-to-be there."

Dean eyes widened. They had promised him to some strange woman without even telling him, let alone asking him if he was OK with her?

He gasped, "I- I figured... Don't I even get to see her first?"

"See HER?" the boss-woman asked, frowning in puzzlement. "Now why would YOU need to see her? She's seen your photos, read your resume, medical reports. She's the one who's paying, isn't she?"

Dean sighed. This wasn't fair. He hadn't even had one chance to turn down the deal before it was signed and sealed. Looked like he was stuck with it.

"I- I need to tell my dad," he stammered.

The woman raised an eyebrow. "You want to telephone out? That isn't allowed here."

"Uh, that's OK. We don't have a telephone anyways," Dean explained. A telephone was a luxury his dad never could hope to afford. "I, uh, I meant a telegram."

"Not allowed," she snapped.

"Can't I even mail him a letter?" he asked desperately.

"Sorry," she retorted, without any trace of regret.

So that was it? Dean was going to be forcibly married out of state, and his dad wasn't even going to know? He groaned. This was so damn unfair.

"Don't worry," the woman consoled him, smiling sweetly. "Could've been worse. Marriage is better than the alternative."

Dean left her office wondering what the 'alternative' might have been.

~o~

Appalachia didn't look like such a bad place, Dean thought, as he sat in the train next to Bela, chugging toward their destination. Perhaps things would turn out OK after all? He had accepted his fate. His dad had taken the agency's money for his brother and that was it. Perhaps an arranged marriage needn't be so bad. Dean had secured his younger brother's future. Sam would be happy at least.

The train halted at the station printed on their tickets, and Dean and Bela got down. Bela glanced around the platform before spotting the Harvelle family. She grabbed Dean by the arm, dragging him behind her as she headed over to the waiting huddle.

"Missus Harvelle?" she asked the evident matriarch of the group.

"Yes," the woman snapped haughtily. "I'm Ellen Harvelle. You must be the agency... person."

She looked Bela up and down with an air of disapproval.

"Indeed, ma'am. I represent 'GoodBoy Matrimonial Agency'," Bela responded. "Missus Harvelle, allow me to introduce your man-bride-to-be." She pushed Dean forward. "This is Dean."

Missus Harvelle surveyed her new acquisition with the merest hint of a sneer. Dean omitted to respectfully lower his gaze. Not a good sign, the older woman thought.

"Hmm," she murmured, less than enthusiastic. "He's tall at least."

She gestured to a younger, straw-blonde girl who trotted over directly. Dean realized the girl was clearly her daughter. Missus Harvelle Jr squealed in delight, clapping her hands.

"Ooh, Momma," she squeaked. "He's pretty."

That was the moment Dean first met his future wife and mistress.

~o~

Jo Harvelle wasn't the most voluptuous woman in all Appalachia, but she was pleasant enough looking. Given the choice, Dean would have probably gone for a more curvaceous mate, but beggars couldn't be choosers. At least he wasn't intended as a plaything for the older Missus Harvelle, something he had feared at first.

Dean decided he could put up with what fate had allotted to him. Maybe Jo had a nice personality? Unfortunately she had no such thing.

The heir to the Harvelle family business was her momma's only child and the apple of the matriarch's eye. In other words, she was a spoilt brat. Since Jo wasn't exactly the sharpest businesswoman in the drawer, the elder Missus Harvelle had determined that her dear daughter should wed, as soon as she could arrange it. She had hopes that there might then be future, less softheaded, heirs to her considerable fortune.

After a brief but adequate ceremony at the Harvelles' lawyer's office, Jo returned to the Harvelle house with her new man-bride, ready to spend their wedding night together. Jo was ridiculously gigglesome, full to bursting with cake and champagne. Dean was tipsy enough to make the idea of diddling his new missus not seem like too much of an ordeal.

However, Dean was a stripling of fifteen and a few weeks. His experience of sex was absolute zero. Apparently Jo's experience wasn't much better, but she was way harder to please. Not exactly a pocket Venus with her clothes on, Dean soon discovered that the skin-and-bone little miss was even less enticing with them off.

So much depended on him getting things right first time. But nerves tingling with adrenaline, apprehension at the newness of the situation and the pressure of performing, meant it was hardly surprising Dean found Little Dean less cooperative than he could have hoped for. Petulant Jo began to get mad at him. And then she started to laugh, which really didn't help. Not at all.

"Looks like Momma bought me one defective little toy," she japed, cruelly.

Bought? Toy? Dean hardly needed to be reminded. Defective? He tried to hold his tongue. He really did. But, after a string of such mocking comments, finally he snapped.

"Oh yeah?" he growled, sitting up in their marital bed. "And if YOU coulda tried to be a little less freakin' SKANKY I might've gotten the job done already."

Jo gulped, stared at him wide-eyed for a full second, and then started to bawl loudly.

"You bastard no-good non-girl," she wailed. "I'll tell Momma!"

Dean was horrified. He didn't know what would happen if the elder Missus Harvelle should actually show up to see what was going on with her whiny daughter. But it wouldn't be good, he was sure. He knew he was going to have to perform his duty sometime, somehow. So he tried his darnedest to persuaded Jo to lay still and let him try again.

"C'mon, uh, Jojo," he begged. "You gonna lay quiet and lemme do this? I can make it feel good, I promise."

Jo frowned at the unauthorized nickname but consented to be still and let Dean try again.

"You better do it good, boy," she scolded him. "Or I'm gonna throw your ass in the trash like some no-use, broken-ass old pinwheel."

Thus motivated this time, Dean succeeded in getting 'Part A' into 'Hole A' before his new missus lost patience with him. That was fine for a few seconds, until he tried to penetrate a little deeper, to seal the deal so to speak. In his inexperience, he managed somehow to hurt her, a tiny twinge. She freaked out, lashing around, and landed a square punch to his jaw.

Dean fell to the floor on his ass, while Jo howled for "Momma". He tried to make her hush up, tried to calm her down, but it was no use.

"Lady, you're one spoiled-ass little freakin' princess," Dean growled, trying to hold her down with one hand and cover her mouth with the other. "Free to choose I wouldn't touch that highfalutin' pussy with freakin' boxing gloves. 'Bout as sexy as a shaved skunk. You wanna lose that cherry, you better hire yourself a freakin' cherry picker."

Right at that moment, 'Momma' appeared in the doorway with a look of thunder on her face. Dean froze, his heart sinking as a sense of dread settled in his stomach.

His marriage only went south from then on.

TBC

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A/N: So what becomes of a lippy man-bride in this world? More soon.


	3. Sons And Daughters

A/N: Dean fulfils his purpose and we find out what life has in store for Sam.

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Bought And Sold (Chapter 3: Sons And Daughters) by frostygossamer

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It was almost two months since Dean's young life had been signed away. He was sitting in a root cellar peeling potatoes, his foot chained to a camp bed in the corner. This was the cell where he was kept locked in at night, only let out to perform his household duties: laundry, scrubbing the floors, sweeping the yard, basic domestic slave-labour. Like back home really.

Following the debacle that was his wedding night, when he had had the temerity to insult his new missus, Joanna-Beth had refused to have him near her. Dean had tried to apologize, time and again, but she was implacable. Stubborn like a freakin' mule, his dad would have said.

Appalachia still had the mindset of a male-slave state. In other words, there a woman all but OWNED her husband. He was, to all intents and purposes, her chattel. And that meant, even as a rejected husband, Dean was still regarded as Joanna-Beth's property. In the Harvelles' view, they had PAID for him and they were entitled to use him however they wanted.

So Dean's status had been reduced to that of a lowly and unvalued servant. And, having attempted to escape the house twice already, desperate to see his father, he had earned himself a leg-iron for his trouble.

Dean put down his bluntish peeling knife and hooked the amulet his brother had given him out of his T-shirt.

"Well, Sammy," he said to the ugly little thing. "Ended up in domestic service after all. Could be worse, I guess."

He laughed mirthlessly. At least his dad would be sending his brother Sam to school now. He hoped his baby brother thought about him sometimes. When he remembered his dad and his brother back home, Dean could almost have cried.

But the Harvelles would never see him cry.

~o~

Three nights later, Dean picked the lock on his leg-iron, climbed out the window and made it to the railroad goods yard. He hopped a freight train, hobo-style, and got as far as a dozen miles from his home town, before railroad security-women found him hiding under a heap of old sacks in an open car. He was handed over to the police, who returned him to the Harvelles, even though he begged them to take him to his father.

"Officers, you gotta take me home," he implored the lawwomen, as he sat in the back of their cruiser. "Need to get back home to my dad. My missus don't want me no more. Dad, he'll take me back."

The policewomen laughed out loud. Did this kid actually live in the real world?

"You're your missus' property, boy," said the skinny, officious one. "Law requires us to return you to her."

"Uh-huh," agreed her chubby, slightly more sympathetic partner. "Your pa gave up all rights to you the day you got yourself wed, sonny. That's how it goes."

So he was dragged back to the Harvelles, where he was beaten soundly and kicked down the cellar steps into the dark root cellar, its window now securely bricked up. He lay there on the dusty floor of the pitch-black cellar, his back stinging from the lashing he had taken.

Missus Ellen considered a visit from the police an affront. The moment they had left the premises, she had grabbed him and thrown him down on the parlour rug. Towering over him, walking cane in hand, she had trashed him until her arm had gotten tired from the force of it. He could do nothing but submit.

There would be red welts on his skin tomorrow. His father had never beaten him so badly. This wasn't right. A weaker spirit than Dean would have broken down and wept.

Even in the darkness, Dean refused to cry.

~o~

It was now Fall and things had calmed down at the Harvelle house following the birth of Joanna-Beth's new daughter and heir. Apparently Dean had managed to get one thing right. The Harvelle ladies couldn't have been more pleased with their new arrival, but that didn't mean Dean was forgiven. In fact, he had become kind of superfluous.

Dean had stopped trying to run away after his daughter was born. The Harvelles' new heir apparent was a sweet little pink bundle and Dean couldn't help but adore her, even though he knew she was destined to grow up despising him. He couldn't leave his flesh and blood when she was so tiny and vulnerable. All he wanted was to be a father to her, but that wasn't to be.

Once she had realized that Dean was no longer a flight-risk, Joanna-Beth had generously allowed him to go unmanacled and sleep in the servants' quarters with the other domestics. He even got to see his daughter once and again, see not touch, so long as he promised never to speak to her.

Missus Ellen named the infant Emma. Dean was instructed to call her 'Missy Emma', like the other servants. No familiarity would be allowed. Missy Emma would NEVER call Dean 'Daddy'. It hurt Dean so much that he wasn't allowed to parent his own child, the way John had cared for him and Sam. But at least he could stick around and watch her grow, watch her momma and grandmomma treat her like the little princess she was to become.

At least he could do that.

~o~

Meanwhile, back home in Kansas, in the backwoods town of Lawren, things went on pretty much as normal for the remaining Campbells. But the life of Dean's kid brother Sam was about to take an unusual change in direction.

It started conventionally enough.

Sam reckoned the day he finally enrolled at the local elementary school was the best day of his life. He was so excited John could barely stop him bouncing around in the foyer of the little private school as they waited to introduce Sam to his new teacher.

"Ah, Widower Campbell. And this must be Sam," Missus Mosley greeted them, smiling kindly. "I do hope he'll be able to keep up with the rest of the class. My girls are a bright bunch."

Missouri Mosley was a generous but no-nonsense woman who ran her own small day school within a morning's walk of the Campbell home. She was know to occasionally take on male pupils, in the spirit of charity.

John smiled politely. "Don't you worry, missus. Sam here is a smart kid. Ain't that right, Sammy? He'll catch up in no time."

Missouri nodded indulgently. "Of course," she agree. "But don't all parents think that? I'm sure you're proud of him. You don't have any daughters, do you?" she added sympathetically.

"Uh, no," agreed John. "But Sam here is as bright as any girl." He paused awkwardly. "Meaning no disrespect."

Missouri smiled, dismissing the remark, and led Sam into her schoolroom. The several little girls already busy with their books hardly acknowledged his arrival. Missouri sat him in a seat at the back of the classroom. From there he was to absorb every word of her teaching, like a sponge sucks up water, for the next two years.

Right from Sam's arrival, Missouri was surprised by the standard of the boy's work. Despite never having attended school before, Sam had always been an avid reader of everything he could get his hands on, from the day his big brother Dean had taught him his letters. He was a very fast learner, sopping up information like he was made of blotting paper. Missouri was forced to quietly warn him, several times, for conspicuously outperforming his female schoolfellows.

After observing Sam intently for a couple semesters, Missouri sent him home one afternoon with a note asking his father to 'pop in for a little chat'. Sam solemnly handed the note to his father with a little trepidation. John's eyes widened as he read it.

What had Sam done now?

~o~

John sat in the visitors' waiting area nervously twisting his cap. He was fearful of what Sam's teacher had asked him in to talk about. Had Sam been behaving badly? Had he been disrespectful to his girl classmates? Was he going to be expelled? It would break the poor kid's heart. And what a waste of all that money, not to mention his big brother's selfless sacrifice.

The door opened and the teacher beckoned the humble male into her private office. Carefully closing the door behind him, she offered him a chair and he obediently sat down.

"We need to talk," the woman began, seating herself at her desk, a very serious expression darkening her face.

With an awkward cough, "Missus, if Sam has been difficult..." John began respectfully.

"No, no," contradicted the teacher. "Sam is a MODEL pupil. I only wish some of my girls could be more like him."

John smiled weakly, acknowledging this compliment. It was rare praise for a boy to be favourably compared to any girl.

"He's very keen to learn," he commented.

The teacher nodded her agreement. "So he is, Widower Campbell. I am VERY impressed."

John beamed. His son had impressed his teacher. A warm feeling of pride welled up within him.

"But we have a problem," she continued. "Sam is reaching the age where, normally, I'd be thinking about beginning to prepare a student for higher education."

John sighed. "Only wish there was money for trade school, missus," he said. "We're far from rich."

That was an understatement. John and his little family were desperately poor. It would have helped out a lot if Sam could have learned a useful trade like dressmaker or hairstylist.

The woman nodded sympathetically. "Yes, I know," she said. "And I wasn't talking about vocational training, Widower Campbell. I was speaking of, ultimately, university."

Missouri leaned back in her chair and waited while that idea sank in.

John's eyes widened. "University?" he gasped. "B-but university is for GIRLS, missus."

Everyone knew that the purpose of a university was to prepare a young woman for a profession. What use would that be to a boy? Besides, there was zero chance a boy would even be accepted for admission.

She nodded. "That's why I would like to suggest a, well, a rather radical workaround to that obstacle."

John was confused. "And what would that be, missus?" he asked, uncertainly.

Missouri rose and moved to the window, standing with her back to John as she spoke.

"Free university scholarships ARE available," she began, "to high-achieving girls. If Sam were a GIRL, I would GLADLY put his name forward."

"If," John repeated sadly. And if pigs had wings...

If either of John's children had been born a girl, so much in their lives would have been easier. Missouri took a deep breath and, with her eyes still averted, she blurted out her shocking suggestion.

"Suppose Sam WERE female? Suppose Sam became... Samantha? Suppose I ADJUSTED his paperwork and enrolled him in highschool as a girl? He could graduate. He could take up a college scholarship. What would you say?"

John was flabbergasted. "You would do that?" he breathed.

Missouri hesitated. "I'd be prepared to do that, if you'd be prepared to collaborate with me on it. For Sam."

John got up and moved to stand beside her. Outside in the school yard, he could see his Sam sitting on a wall with his head in a book, as always, while the other kids ran around having fun. Sam was never happy except when he was studying. Could John deny his son his chance to shine?

He nodded, slowly at first and then with more conviction.

"Thank you, missus," he whispered, knowing that me was now committing himself to collusion in a serious crime. "I'll do it. Sam deserves it. Heck, his brother deserves it too."

Dean had allowed himself to be sent into servitude for this. John had to make that sacrifice worthwhile.

The teacher nodded. Although she was no longer the radical masculinist of her youth, she had to agree that her best pupil EVER truly deserved what the law denied him.

Sam WOULD go to university.

TBC

* * *

A/N: So, while Dean is condemned to drudgery, Sam is destined for academia? More soon.


	4. Hit The Ground Running

A/N: To reassure anyone who was wondering, there will be no gender swapping in this fic. Sam will remain male throughout. And Dean too. Sorry I took so long with this chapter. Hopefully I'll have the next one sorted out a bit quicker.

A/N: Dean is driven to do something rash for the sake of someone he loves.

* * *

Bought And Sold (Chapter 4: Hit The Ground Running) by frostygossamer

* * *

Almost three years down the line, Dean had resigned himself to a lifetime of domestic drudgery at the Harvelle estate. At her mother's insistence, Missus Harvelle Sr being a belt-and-braces woman, Jo had produced a second child. Though, this time, she had insisted on artificial insemination rather than engaging her spurned spouse's actual physical assistance.

Dean had been subjected to a pretty unpleasant medical procedure to obtain that sample, even though he had sworn he could now perform the necessary act, if required. Jo had chosen, however, NOT to require it. Time had not caused her to feel any more kindly toward him. That girl could hold a grudge with the best.

Unfortunately, and much to both the Harvelles' deep disgust, this second baby had turned out to be, not another heir, but a useless BOY. To them, the infant was nothing more than another burdensome mouth to feed until he was old enough to be married off.

The non-girl child had been a huge disappointment to Jo. A few years earlier the Harvelles would probably have 'deselected' him before he came to full term. However, the laws of Appalachia had recently been changed to discourage this practice, the state government having discovered that the male birth rate had dropped ridiculously below an acceptable minimum.

Dean was well aware that his boy child wouldn't be treated like his privileged big sister, Missy Emma. The Harvelles and the world knew boy children were inferior and not really worth their keep. This was especially true in the Selective States, where gender discrimination was particularly harsh. The poor child's mother had rejected him and Dean could see he was already being neglected, left in the sole care of uncaring nursery-boys.

Dean felt for him and he longed so much to show the tiny infant his love, but he was forbidden. He feared for his baby boy. For the first time in so very long, he began to think about running.

This time with his son!

~o~

After a hard day's toil, Dean flopped down on the hard bed in his tiny quarters and pulled out the muddy flyer he had picked up in the street.

He had been walking back to the Harvelles' car from the store with the family chef, lugging their groceries the way he used to lug groceries for his dad and brother all those years ago, when he spotted it fluttering across the sidewalk. He had quickly stuffed it in his pocket, before anyone could see.

He read it through carefully, hardly able to believe what it said.

It was a flyer for a men's refuge, a safe house where they took in battered and mistreated men and helped them to get away from their abusive missuses. This was exactly what Dean needed. When he had tried to run before he had never gotten far without money or transport, and he had always wound up taking a beating when they dragged him 'home'.

Escape would be especially hard with a little child in tow this time. He would need someplace to go where there were people sympathetic to his desperate situation. The men's refuge sounded like the place.

Dean committed the details on the flyer to memory and then hid it under a loose floorboard, mindful that he could trust no one in the Harvelle house.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face. He had a plan.

~o~

A couple weeks later, Dean saw his chance.

Jo and her mother had gone to visit with Ellen's elderly mother, taking along their spoiled little darling Emma, all dolled up in lace and pigtails. The new baby boy was left in his bassinet out in the sunny yard, with only a bored nursery-boy to watch him.

Dean was returning from the laundry room with a basket of newly laundered towels when he spotted them. He noticed that the nursery-boy was wafting himself with a makeshift paper fan, overheating in the summer sunshine.

"Hot day, huh?" he remarked to the boy, casually.

"That's for sure," the boy agreed, nodding.

"Bet you could use a cold one right now," Dean observed, making a drinking gesture with his free hand.

"Couldn't I?" agreed the boy, sullenly. "But I gotta watch the freakin' kid."

He gave the bassinet a peevish little kick. Dean tried not to wince.

"Why don't I watch the brat while you go get yourself a brewski?" Dean suggested, helpfully.

He knew that this boy hadn't been around long enough to pick up on the fact that the guy talking to him was actually the baby's father, not merely some random servant. Very few of the staff at the Harvelle house were aware of that fact anymore. Dean was never EVER treated like family.

"Awesome idea," the boy exclaimed, jumping up. "Be back in ten, tops," and he disappeared indoors.

Dean had ten minutes. He grabbed the baby from the bassinet, wrapping him in a thick, soft towel. He stuffed the rest of his towels in the bassinet, simulating a baby-sized lump under the blanket, and gently placed his child in the empty laundry basket. Then he ran to his room in the servants' quarters, seizing his little stash of found coins and his jacket.

And then they were gone for good.

~o~

Dean had collected together barely enough lost coinage to pay for a bus ticket into town. Jumping on the first bus he saw, he sat down quickly on a seat in the back, with the laundry basket on his lap, and prayed the kid would stay quiet. He didn't need to get noticed. They really couldn't risk the attention. At the first stop in town, he got off of the bus. His heart was racing.

It felt really weird walking around town on his own. He had never been to town by himself in all the time he had been living in Appalachia, and he felt like everyone's eyes were on him. Too afraid to ask anyone for directions, it took him quite some while before he found the street he was looking for. The one that had been printed on the flyer he picked up.

The refuge was in a dilapidated old building at the end of its street, with metal shutters over the front windows and a reinforced metal door. The walls and door of the building were covered with graffiti and splashes of red paint proclaiming that this was a place for 'MAN-WHORES' and 'THIEVES' and 'LIARS'. Yes, this had to be the place.

Dean approached the door nervously, his grip tightening on the handle of his baby's basket as he knocked. After a moment, the door opened a crack and a middle-aged, tawny-bearded guy peeked out.

"Hi, son, whaddaya want here?" the guy asked suspiciously.

"Is, uh, is this the men's refuge?" Dean asked, inwardly cursing the uncertain quaver in his voice.

The older guy glanced quickly up and down the street and then grabbed Dean's shoulder, yanking him inside and slamming the door shut behind him.

"You followed?" the guy asked gruffly.

"Uh, no. Don't think so," answered Dean. "Came here alone. Except for, um, 'cept for the baby."

The older guy inhaled through his teeth. "You brung a baby?" he observed. "That's trouble."

The last thing he needed was more unnecessary trouble at the refuge. The foul-mouthed spray-painters the week before had been bad enough.

Dean scowled at him. "Wasn't gonna leave him. They woulda beat on him same as they beat on me."

The guy raised an eyebrow. "He your mistress's kid? You his nursery-boy?"

He knew he would have to hand any kidnapped kid back to the authorities. He couldn't risk condoning actual felony. That would be the fast way to get his place closed down.

"Nuh-uh," Dean insisted. "He's mine. I'm his daddy. And I'm not gonna abandon him with a momma who don't love him. Hell no."

The older guy nodded in understanding. It wasn't the first case like that he had met up with. Mistreated spouses would grin and bear it until a child became involved. That was often the breaking point.

"Name's Bobby," he said. "Bobby Singer. I'm the man-matron around here."

"I'm Dean," responded the young guy, with a polite smile. "Dean Harvelle, uh, I mean Dean Campbell."

It had been so long since Dean had used his mother's name it sounded strange to his ears.

Bobby took him into a big, warm kitchen, where several men and boys were eating soup at a long trestle table. He poured Dean a bowl of soup from a big pot and motioned for him to sit at the table, holding out his hand to take the laundry basket from him. Dean clung on to it stubbornly.

"Hey, it's OK, son," Bobby assured him, in a gentler voice. "Gonna take care of the youngster. Let you eat."

After a moment's hesitation, Dean let the older guy take his baby and sat down at the end of the bench to eat his soup. He was hungry. He was always hungry. And so was his baby.

Bobby noticed that the infant was grizzling the moment he took the basket from Dean's hands. He set it down in a warm spot and busied himself fixing some baby formula from a huge tub of the stuff. Within a few seconds Dean was at his elbow watching his every move.

"Fixing some formula for the little shaver, son," Bobby told the worried father. "We get this wholesale, with the help of a little charity set up by a sympathetic women's organization. Believe it or not, SOME women AREN'T female chauvinists, even here in Appalachia," he chuckled.

When he had prepared a bottle, he handed it to Dean. "Here," he said. "You can feed the little scamp yourself."

Dean took the bottle and got himself settled on the floor beside his basket. He scooped the squealing bundle out and carefully unwrapped his little head, before tempting him with the teat of the bottle. The infant was soon sucking away happily.

"You've done that before," Bobby joshed.

Dean shook his head. "They never let me touch him," he told Bobby. "But I had me a little brother. All but raised him myself, while Dad was working in that sweatshop. Mom passed away when he was tiny, see. Haven't laid eyes on him or Dad in years."

Bobby smiled sadly. "Sorry to hear that, son," he sympathized. "So... What's this little tyke's name, huh?"

Dean looked up at him and laughed. The baby's momma had referred to him only as 'that dratted non-girl'.

"They never named him," he admitted. "Only a boy. Not worth a good name."

Bobby shook his head. "That's damn harsh," he commented. "But it happens."

He kneeled down beside the younger guy and stroked the baby's head with one finger. The infant gurgled happily at the affectionate contact, something he wasn't used to.

"So whadda YOU wanna call him?" Bobby asked softly.

Dean considered for a moment. It was an idea that had never occurred to him before. In their culture, it was always the women who named their children. Dean's mom had named him after HER mom, Deanna. That was something of an honour. His brother's name came from her father. It gave Dean an idea.

"Samuel," he said. "Like my kid brother. That's a good name right there."

Bobby nodded. "Samuel it is then," he agreed, with a grin. "Hi there, Samuel."

The baby grinned up at the only people who had ever shown him kindness.

"Boo!" he burped, and wriggled happily.

TBC

* * *

A/N: So far so good, but happiness seldom lasts for Winchesters, er, Campbells. More soon.


	5. No Place Like Home

A/N: Dean's safe at the men's refuge, but for how long? What do the Harvelles think about that?

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Bought And Sold (Chapter 5: No Place Like Home) by frostygossamer

* * *

Dean soon discovered that the other boys and men resident at the refuge all had their own sob stories. Some had been sold into prostitution. Many had been forced into marriage, often to abusive missuses, as he had. A few other unfortunates had been sexually assaulted by gangs of drunken women and then shunned by their families.

There was one young guy, named Adam, whose own mother had slashed his face with a knife when she discovered he was planning to elope with a liberal girl. He had needed stitches, and there was still the pale ghost of a scar across his left cheek, from eye to chin. His incensed mother had wanted to disfigure him, but quick-thinking medics had managed to save his looks. Sneaking out of hospital, he had fled straight to the refuge.  
Adam and Dean became friends, Adam helping Dean out by watching little Samuel while Dean was doing his share of the household chores.

Dean found that life at the men's refuge wasn't too hard. Anything was better than the way he had been treated by the Harvelles. He got used to living there and he soon settled into its regular routine. Samuel thrived and even put on a little weight. He and his daddy began to bond. There, in the safety of the small enclosed yard behind the refuge, Samuel took his first steps into Dean's arms, and said his first word.

"Dada!"

After several quiet months, Dean stopped worrying about the Harvelles and began to think about his home back in Lawren, with his father and brother. He hadn't heard from them in so long and he missed them both so much. He wished he could see them again and introduce them to his little Samuel.

"Reckon you could get this letter to my dad, Bobby?" Dean asked one day, as they were hanging out communal washing in the refuge's backyard.

He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to the older man, who took it a little reluctantly.

"Guess we could maybe manage that," Bobby said. "You thinking about going home?"

"Yeah, Bobby, I am," Dean confessed. "I'd love for Dad to see his grandson. And Sam. Little Samuel oughta meet his namesake."

Bobby smiled. Dean talked about his little brother all the time. It was evident he was proud of the youngster and that he missed him more then he would admit. The older guy had noticed the amulet Dean wore around his neck, and had overheard him talking to it more than once.

Bobby could understand that Dean had to feel isolated, with no contact from his nearest and dearest. But he knew, from experience, that such contact could be dangerous for someone in Dean's position.

"That could be a problem, son," he said. "May not be safe to take the tiddler back home. His mom could organize a snatch."

Dean's mouth dropped open. "Bobby, Jo never wanted Samuel. Why would she wanna snatch him?"

He had been living at the refuge for long enough that he had assumed the hue and cry had to be over. If the Harvelles had given up on him, why would they want a useless baby boy they didn't value, let alone love?

"It happens, boy," Bobby replied sadly. "Just 'cause the mom don't want the youngster don't mean she's gonna let YOU keep him. Heck, she's the boss. We mere men don't get to call the shots."

Dean was horrified. He had never considered that his missus would want her rejected baby back, even to spite him. But, then again, OLD Missus Harvelle WAS a goddamned spiteful woman. He could believe Missus Ellen would rather see Samuel dead than out of her control.

"All the same, Bobby, I'd really like for Dad to know where we are," he pleaded.

Bobby nodded. "See what I can do."

He pocketed Dean's letter, but he doubted he would really send it. He had been in his line of work for a long time, and he had seen danger brought to a refuge's door that way before.

Bobby had learned the hard way to trust no one. Even the USC Mail.

~o~

Back once again in Appalachia, Bela stepped from her black sedan, parked out in front of the Harvelle house. She was admitted by a waiting houseman and guided to the sitting room, where she was joined by the august presence of Missus Harvelle Sr.

"You do know why I sent for you?" asked Ellen Harvelle, sitting down ponderously.

"Er, yes, ma'am," Bela agreed. "I'm told your daughter's spouse has run away... again."

Missus Harvelle snorted. "That good-for-nothing peabrain your agency saddled us with. This time he's not only absconded. He's taken a CHILD with him."

"He's taken a child?" Bela repeated, a little alarmed. Kidnap was a serious charge.

The older woman heaved a put-upon sigh, clearly more irritated than distressed.

"Only a boy," she admitted, sourly.

"Oh," responded Bela, relaxing somewhat. Only a boy. No one important. "Is that all?"

Missus Harvelle rolled her eyes skyward and drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair, waiting for Bela to catch her drift.

"You want them returned?" Bela asked, uncertainly. "Of course. We have operatives who can do that."

Missus Harvelle frowned, smoothing her skirt deliberately for a few seconds.

"No. Not that," she eventually replied. "I want the association... severed. I'd be grateful if you could make it so."

Bela considered the implications of that word 'severed'. Divorce WAS legal in Appalachia, but it was rare and, frankly, scandalous if prompted by the male's misbehaviour. A wealthy family like the Harvelles wouldn't want a blot of that kind on the family name. The only other way to 'sever' a marriage was by the demise of one of the parties. It didn't take much brainwork to decipher what Missus Harvelle was getting at. Someplace at the back of Bela's mind a cash register chimed.

"We have operatives who can do that also," Bela responded, adding, "for a very reasonable fee."

Ellen Harvelle nodded her assent. She was prepared to throw money at the problem to avoid appearing in the society columns. Bela stood to shake hands on the deal.

"Now, ma'am," she said, half turning toward the door. "If someone can show me to his sleeping quarters? I'd like to take a little look."

Bela left the Harvelle residence with no uncertainty about what fate the Harvelles intended for Dean. She considered it unfortunate that their contract should have turned out such a failure. But, as far as she was concerned, it was a financial arrangement, nothing more. It wasn't her business to worry about the personal side. Compassion didn't bring home the bucks.

She glanced at the crumpled flyer she had rescued from under that creaky floorboard in Dean's room. The young man wasn't going to be hard to find this time.

"Sorry, Dean," she murmured to herself as she climbed into her sedan. "Even the pretty ones need to know their place."

~o~

Bela stood on the doorstep of the men's refuge, checking her fingernails. Some five minutes after her authoritative knock, the door opened a crack and Bobby Singer looked out.

"Can I help you, missus?" he inquired politely, but with the faintest hint of sarcasm behind his words.

"You have a young man here. Dean Campbell?" Bela asked, raising an immaculate eyebrow.

Bobby gave the woman a leery look. "And what would you want with him?" he demanded. "...missus."

Bela chose to ignore the older man's less than wholly respectful tone.

"Nothing but good, uncle," she replied smilingly. "I've come straight from his matrimonial home with some EXCELLENT news. Something he will be VERY glad to hear, I'm sure."

"Oh yeah?" responded Bobby, suspiciously.

"May I come in and speak to him?" she asked, pushing forward a little.

Bobby frowned. The men's refuge was strictly male-only territory. No woman was ever allowed to set foot on the premises. Bobby was all too aware that some of his most traumatized charges could be deeply alarmed if they should run into a female in their little sanctuary.

"You can go round to the yard," he allowed. "I'll send him out back. Ifn he's willing to talk to ya, that is."

Bela nodded and Bobby shut the door in her face, disappearing inside. Stepping slowly to the back of the building, Bela entered the walled backyard through its rusty-hinged gate. She sat herself down on an old kitchen chair that the refuge's children had left out in the sun. After a couple minutes, Dean emerged from the back door, drying his hands on a dish towel tied around his waist, and approached her.

"Missus Bela," he addressed her warily, recognizing the woman immediately.

Bela looked up and smiled warmly. "Don't look like that, Dean. I come bearing good news."

Dean didn't look convinced. "What kinda news?" he demanded.

Bela laughed lightly. "You'll be glad to know that the Harvelles have agreed to dissolve your marriage contract, Dean," she explained. "They've decided they don't need you back. You're free to go where you will."

"Free?" Dean repeated uncertainly. "You mean... they're not gonna make trouble?"

"Trouble? No," Bela replied. "You can go your own way from now on. You can even go home to your father, Dean. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Dean was amazed. Was it all over so easily? "I can go home?" he murmured.

"Yes indeed," confirmed Bela. "If you want, I can take you home right now."

Dean could hardly believe it. This was the best news he could have gotten. Overjoyed, he ran straight back inside to tell Bobby.

"I'm going home, Bobby," he gabbled. "The Harvelles have given up on me. I can go home to Dad, and my little brother Sam. I can see them again."

"Now, now, son," Bobby grumbled. "Tell me slowly. What is this?"

Dean was so excited he could hardly speak coherently. He took a deep breath and tried to explain more clearly.

"This woman, Bela, she's from the marriage agency that hooked me up with Jo Harvelle," he said quickly, words tumbling out in his excitement. "She says the Harvelles have DISSOLVED the marriage. Been FREED from the contract. It's safe to go home. Bobby, I'm gonna go get Samuel and take him see his grandpa."

Bobby narrowed his old eyes. Many years running the refuge had made him somewhat sceptical of the supposed goodness of news brought by women.

"Now wait a minute, boy," he interrupted, anxious to calm Dean down. "Is it a good idea to take the kid? You don't know how things are with your dad. Maybe you should leave the youngster here a while, until you're settled. Then you can send for him."

Dean stopped jumping around and punching the air a moment to consider Bobby's words.

"Yeah, I guess you're right, Bobby," he agreed after a second. "Maybe I SHOULD leave Samuel with you. But only till I've gotten things ready for him back home. Then I'll come get him." He gave Bobby a quick hug. "Samuel'll be fine here. You're like his big old uncle."

The old guy nodded, and Dean hurried off to collect his few things and share a touching goodbye with his cute little boy.

"Now Samuel, Daddy's gonna go see Grandpa. Uncle Bobby'll take care of ya till Daddy gets back. OK?" he told him, hunkered down at the little one's level.

His son beamed at him cheekily. "Dada," he chirped, grabbing his daddy for a hug.

Dean squeezed him tight one last time, dropping a kiss on the top of his head, then he affectionately ruffled the mite's sandy hair. Samuel was so much like his dad.

"Now you be a good boy, huh? Mind what Uncle Bobby says. Remember, Daddy loves ya."

It hurt Dean to leave his Samuel behind, even for a short time. It reminded him so much of the day he left Lawren and his dad and brother, never to see them again. Well, until that day. Finally, they were all going to be reunited. He was going to see his dad and his brother Sam again.

Dean fingered the amulet under his shirt. Sam was going to be so thrilled that he still had it. He would give it back to him the moment they met up again.

Whenever that might be.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Will Dean get to see Lawren and Sam again? What's Bela planning? More soon.


	6. Bags Packed And Ready To Go

A/N: Bela has offered to take Dean home to Lawren. But since when have we trusted Bela?

* * *

Bought And Sold (Chapter 6: Bags Packed And Ready To Go) by frostygossamer

* * *

Excited about the prospect of seeing his father and brother again, Dean hastily packed his few things into a small duffle. He caught up with Bela outside the refuge, where she was waiting by her sedan, arms folded.

"Not bringing the little one?" she casually asked, observing Dean's one small bag.

"Nah," replied Dean, jumping in the passenger seat. "Gonna leave him here with his Uncle Bobby till I see Dad. Can't wait to see the old man's face when I tell him he's a grandpa. He's gonna be stoked."

Bela chuckled. "Well, at least we know where to find the little cherub," she remarked, darkly.

Dean, too excited to listen properly, completely missed the tone of that comment.

"Maybe we shoulda sent Dad a telegram?" Dean suggested, as they pulled away. "Let him know we're coming?"

"No need," replied Bela. "We'll be there by nightfall. We're taking the train. You'll sleep in your old bed tonight."

"Awesome," Dean agreed, he wasn't about to question his good luck. The poor boy suspected nothing.

Bela drove them to the station and parked the car. They had only a few minutes to wait for the train. When it arrived they got themselves comfortable, Bela letting Dean sit beside the window. Dean was full of excitement, grinning out the window at the passing scenery.

After a few minutes, Bela took an elegant silver liquor flask from her purse. She made as if to drink from it, but stopped before it touched her lips.

"Here," she said nonchalantly, offering it to Dean. "Take a sip of this. It'll calm you down."

Dean took the flask and smiled widely. "Here's to family reunions," he said, and took a swig.

Five minutes later he was out for the count.

A couple stops farther on, Bela alighted from the train and shook the hand of another woman who was waiting on the platform. The short, dark, dapper woman was dressed all in black and wore mirrored sunglasses. In her purse she carried a Berretta pistol, in her garter a switchblade.

"He's all yours, Meg," Bela told her. "I expect you'll be taking SPECIAL care of him."

"Oh, don't you worry, sugarplum," Meg replied, with a lazy smirk. "I'll be taking real GOOD care of the darling boy."

Meg climbed aboard the train and sat herself down in the seat lately vacated by Bela. The seat right next to the comatose Dean. She smiled to herself. Dean was now her charge, and she intended to dispose of him in the usual way... permanently. She fingered the knife in her garter.

When the train pulled in to Lawren, Dean was no longer aboard.

~o~

Bobby tried not to let his imagination run away with him when he realized that a week had passed without any word from Dean. Lawren was a long way away and sometimes the refuge's mail got... diverted. Still, he had expected Dean to get back to him about Samuel as soon as he had gotten home. If he had ever gotten home.

As the days passed, Bobby had to finally admit to himself that maybe there was a reason he hadn't heard from Dean. Maybe Dean was... Well, Bobby didn't want to think the worst but he was damned if he trusted that woman Bela. He had run across women like that before. Heartless.

He told himself to wait a while before jumping to any hasty conclusions. That was until the morning Adam came running back from the market, out of breath and gabbling.

Young Adam had been a great help to Bobby in the years since the old guy had taken him in. Blossoming from a frightened kid to a confident young adult, he had gradually taken on some of Bobby's minor responsibilities at the refuge. One of these was collecting their regular order of baby formula from the local market. Adam had stepped out that morning to do that very run.

Bobby hadn't expected him back so soon, so he was concerned when he heard his signature knock at the door and opened right up. Adam rushed past him looking rattled and panting hard.

"Adam?! What's going on?" demanded Bobby, a little alarmed.

Adam took a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

"Couple dames," he gasped. "Couple dames grabbed me outside the market."

"Couple dames?" repeated Bobby, raising his eyebrows. "What 'couple dames'?"

"Dunno," answered Adam, shaking his head. "Just... One of them was real scary. Black suit. Cop shades. They wanned to know about Samuel."

"Samuel?!" Bobby snapped, now having good reason to be alarmed. "What would they wanna know 'bout the kid?"

Adam exhaled noisily. "They just wanned to know if Dean's kid was here. They said they might be gonna come by, pick him up. Sometime soon. Take him to Dean."

Bobby's expression turned angry. "Like hell they will," he growled. "Not gonna hand that boy over to anyone I don't goddamn know. What'd you say?"

Adam shook his head. "Not word one about Samuel," he swore. "Told 'em they'd gotten the wrong guy. Didn't know any Dean. Didn't know any kid."

Bobby nodded and patted him on the shoulder. "Good work, son," he said.

Adam sighed, touching his scarred cheek.

"For one freakin' minute I was sure my mom had sent 'em. To drag me back home and..."

No wonder he was shaken. Even after so long he was still scared of his mom, the hateful woman who had given him that scar. Bobby felt sorry for the poor kid.

"C'mon, son. Fix ya a nice cuppa tea to settle your nerves. The kettle's boiled."

As he led Adam into the warm kitchen, a plan was already forming in Bobby's mind. He needed to get little Samuel somewhere safe damn soon. Somewhere out of the reach of whoever the hell these women were who had taken his daddy.  
~o~

Next day, Bobby sent off a coded telegram to his cousins in the country. His late aunt had owned a small truck farm miles from anyplace. When she died, it had passed to her daughter Karen. Cousin Karen was one of the few women Bobby trusted. She and her hubby had a passel of kids, some her own and some orphans she had taken in to help work the farm. One more wouldn't be noticed. He knew she would be willing to take in little Samuel and keep him safe. The sooner the boy was out of the city the better.

A week later Bobby drove out to the farm and dropped Samuel off.

"OK, Samuel. So this is gonna be your home for a while," he told the boy. "Nice Aunt Karen's gonna take care of ya."

The boy beamed up at him, not entirely sure what was going on.

Karen stepped forward and gave the little mite a warm hug.

"You like cookies, Samuel?" she asked him, with a big smile. "I've chocolate-chip cookies straight outta the oven on my kitchen table. Run on inside and help yourself."

Samuel grinned and, with one last glance at Bobby, trotted indoors.

"So you're OK with this?" asked Bobby.

"Sure," answered his cousin, pecking him on the cheek. "He'll fit right in. Doncha worry."

Bobby turned and got back in his truck.

"If you can sent us an update once in a while?" he suggested. "Along with the turnips."

Karen's little farm supplied the refuge with the odd crate of root vegetables, when they could spare it.

Karen nodded, then had a thought. "His daddy...?" she queried.

Bobby sighed gravely. "Karen, I just don't know," he admitted.

He started the truck and drove away, back to town. Something made him feel Karen's question might never get an answer.

~o~

Four years at Lawren High School, answering to the name Samantha, using his dad's maiden name Winchester, and dressing in skirts and pigtails, had been a trial for Dean's kid brother Sam. But not as much of a trial as parting with his beloved books would have been. His dad had laid out the choices: girl meant school, boy meant no school. Sam had gone with school.

Attending classes in disguise meant Sam never socialized, never played any sports, never took part in any activities, never made any friends, all too risky. It was a lonely few years, but Sam gradually came to realized that, for him, school was about something more important than merely filling his head with knowledge. It was about achieving something no male had done before. Getting an education. If he had to remain a 'girl' his whole life, it would be worth it, some day.

Sam had to get used to, the mostly thoughtless but nonetheless hurtful, jokes of his unwitting high-school fellows as he gradually filled out and sprouted, his inappropriate male hormones playing havoc with his body. Luckily for him, girls with unfortunate hormonal imbalance problems were not completely unheard of. John had been able to pass off his exceptionally tall daughter as an isolated freak of nature, upsetting though it was to Sam to be called a freak.

Eventually he turned eighteen and graduated high school with his hard-won diploma, as Missouri Mosley had predicted. Suddenly it all seemed worthwhile. John was quietly delighted. University beckoned.

"I'm too damn tall, and I feel like a fool," Sam griped, as he stood in John's parlour wearing a shapeless gray dress and a pair of high-heels, which once belonged to his late mother.

John was on his hands and knees, letting down the hem to allow for his son's ridiculous height. He chuckled, his mouth full of pins. He had to admit that his youngest did look a little gawky, actually a lot gawky, with his long hair in curlers and his under things stuffed with padding.

"You look fine," he insisted, utilizing the last pin. "Not all females are beautiful, son. Some women are goddamn plain. You'll pass."

Sam grinned sheepishly. "Least I'm not gonna attract any unwanted admirers," he joshed.

"Jeez, I'd damn well hope not," his father agreed, laughing as he stood up and stretched. "But, seriously, give up any thoughts of romance, ya hear?"

Sam nodded. "My mind's gonna be strictly on my books. Don't you worry, Dad."

Sam's bags were packed and ready to go on the first bus to the city the next morning. Sam would be leaving after John had already headed out for the sweatshop, so he wouldn't get to wave his son goodbye.

"Good luck, Sam," he said, giving his boy one final fatherly hug. "Work hard and be a credit to your old dad."

Sam nodded tearfully. "I will," he swore. "I'll make you proud. And I hope I'll make Dean proud too."

John felt a tear well up at the mention of his eldest son. He hadn't heard a word from him in so many years. John had tried to get in touch with Dean to tell him Sam's news. But the 'GoodBoy' agency had informed him, rather stiffly, that the family Dean had been placed with as a servant forbade any home contact. Well, John had taken their money, what could he do? He only hoped, wherever Dean was, he was doing OK.

"Know you will, Sam," he murmured. "I know you will."

"Samantha, Dad," Sam reminded him. "Sam Campbell was a poor kid with no future. I'm Samantha Winchester from now on. And Samantha is going places."

Turning away from his son, John muffled a cough with his elbow. Sam didn't need to know about his dad's deteriorating health, not at such a special moment. Hospital not being an option, John could only hope he would live to see 'Samantha Winchester' graduate.

As it happened, he didn't.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Everybody's going places. More soon.


	7. A Close Encounter

A/N: Slightly longer chapter this time. N.B. I'm changing the rating to M now, just in case. But don't worry. It's never going to get too graphic. That isn't my thing.

A/N: Looks like Dean's journey is over, huh? So now we switch to Samantha's story. How is 'she' doing at University? Can 'she' keep 'her' cover intact?

* * *

Bought And Sold (Chapter 7: A Close Encounter) by frostygossamer

* * *

On the face of it, Samantha Winchester was a normal enough college girl. A 'full ride' scholarship student from a dirt-poor town in the sticks, she had spent the past two years working damn hard to get herself some excellent grades. She kept her nose impeccably clean all the while, and was known throughout her sorority as an unusually dedicated and somewhat boring scholar.

It was evening and she was sitting at her desk in her dormitory room as usual, poring over textbooks as she worked on an essay for law class.

Her best friend Jessica stopped in her doorway. Samantha had buddied up with the blonde on her first day at school, and they had soon become besties. The sweet and feminine Jess had soon devoted herself to helping out the gauche country girl, with her lack of natural grace and dress sense.

"Burning the midnight oil again, Samantha?" Jess asked, playfully. "We're all going bowling. Wanna come?"

Samantha looked up from her page and smiled. "Gotta finish this one assignment," she said.

Jess grinned. "Well, don't you work too hard," she said, laughing as she turned away.

Samantha chuckled as she returned her attention to her books. Her friend Jess was such a popular girl and always trying to get her involved in the college's social scene. But Samantha had more important things in mind, such as getting an A+ for this assignment. Still, if everyone was going out, at least she would get some peace to finish her work.

Ten minutes later, however, Samantha was interrupted again. This time by Ruby, a transfer student who had only joined the sorority after New Year's and straight away had latched onto Jess's little clique. The dark-haired female wasn't a good girl like Jessica. Ruby liked to party. And, worse than that, she was a gossip. So, naturally, Samantha had to watch herself around her.

Ruby was the one Samantha had most to worry about in the whole sorority. Ruby wasn't the kind of gal to take things on face value. She liked to get to the bottom of a mystery. And she noticed things. Jeez, why did that woman have to be so damn snoopy?

"You still working on that dumb report?" Ruby asked, leaning on the doorjamb lazily, as she examined her perfect, polished black nails, a Cheshire cat smile on her face. "Sure LURVE to study. Doncha, Sami?"

Samantha faked a smile. She didn't like Ruby using that nickname. It reminded her too much of her old life. But she so didn't need to get on the wrong side of someone like Ruby by making a fuss.

"Wanna do it justice, Ruby. Really gotta up my grades this semester."

Ruby shook her head. "All work and no play makes Jane a dull girl," she reminded her. "You really need to have more fun."

No one could fault Samantha's single-minded ambition to qualify as a lawyer. She had sacrificed more than anyone could ever know. All because she was determined that, one day, she would do her bit to change the archaic and unfair chauvinist legislation of her native country, 'Columbia, Land of the Free Woman'.

When Samantha turned back to her book, Ruby sashayed over and closed the open tome with a slam. She stood behind her, placing her hands on Samantha's unfemininely chunky shoulders.

"Nuh-uh, Sami," she admonished. "You and me are gonna go out and get us a few beers. It's Friday night. Homework can wait. OK?"

Samantha sighed. She knew what Ruby could be like when she had made up her mind about something. She wasn't going to leave the bookworm in peace. Samantha might as well go along with whatever she had in mind. The work could wait a couple hours, she guessed.

"So, where're we gonna go?" Samantha asked. She hoped Ruby wasn't thinking of anyplace loud.

Ruby's face lit up. "Just a couple drinks," she said. "C'mon, Sami. Get your war paint on. Girl, we're gonna hit the town."

~o~

The United States of Columbia was a forward-thinking nation run by women, because women were obviously the superior sex. Men, their weaker counterparts, inferior because they couldn't bear children and had feeble brains incapable of performing more than one task at a time, were downtrodden and unrepresented. Naturally, Samantha didn't agree with the unjust status quo.

She was a liberal, an unpopular attitude amongst the wealthy classes who sent their daughters to university. But it was not so strange amongst the lowly denizens of the poorer provincial villages, like the one where her destitute widowed father, had struggled to raise her. Out in the backwoods, both sexes had to pull together to survive.

Her dad, John, had given up so much so she could get a college education. She meant to do him proud. That was why she resented being dragged out to 'have fun' when she could have been studying. Especially when what Ruby had called a couple drinks turned into something of a bar crawl. Ruby was surprised to find, though not normally a drinker, Samantha had a surprisingly high alcohol tolerance for a woman.

When Ruby had finally given up trying to get her friend smashed and Samantha was ready to call it a night, Ruby decided she needed to up the level of fun.

"Sami, Sami," she chuckled. "Always so uptight. Honey, when was the last time you got laid, huh?"

Samantha flinched, her mind racing. She had to be careful answering a question like that. What should she say? Make up a colourful love-life? Or tell the truth? That she had never 'gotten laid'. Well, she probably never would, given her circumstances, but she couldn't let Ruby know that.

"There are more important things than sex, Ruby," she grumbled. "I'm freakin' tired. Why don't we go back to the dorm. Get some shuteye?"

Ruby shook her head. "Sami, I do believe I've hit on the problem right there. I'm guessing that you've never used a guy yet. Never have seen you with one."

Samantha tried not to cringe at that observation. She had hoped her fellow students would have put her lack of interest in the 'opposite' sex down to her being a nerd first and foremost.

Ruby laughed her wickedest laugh. "You really gotta let your lovely hair down and get yourself some shirt, honey. Doncha worry. Aunt Ruby's gonna fix that for you. C'mon, Sami. I'm gonna show you what a good time feels like."

That was how they ended up outside of a shady backstreet manhouse, 'Plucky's House of Fun', a place where a woman client could purchase the services of any man-whore that took their fancy for a sum of cash. Technically manhouses were illegal, but generally the local police turned a blind eye, as long as they received their cut of the take. Corruption was rife throughout the USC, mainly because female-led institutions strove for mutually beneficial cooperation rather than what was seen as 'caveman' competition.

"Seriously? A manhouse? Ruby, what are we even doing here?" Samantha groaned.

Ruby chuckled at her friend's discomfort. "Best place for your first time, Sami," she pronounced. "These boys know how to take good care of an inexperienced lady."

It was probably the LAST place in the world Samantha wanted to find herself, but she really had to be SO careful not to arouse Ruby's suspicions. Ruby had a way of putting her in a place where she had no alternative but to go along, because protesting would draw attention. She really did not need Ruby's attention drawn.

Samantha was going to have to grit her teeth and bluff her way through.

~o~

The seedy reception area of the manhouse consisted of a little counter and a tiny bar in a dingy room decorated with multicolour string lights. The mister behind the desk was an middle-aged guy with a paunch. Once he might have been handsome, but age and ill-use had caused his features to sag into a sour expression.

Samantha figured she would wait at the bar until Ruby had finished with her hooker and then go. But Ruby would have none of that. She insisted on choosing Samantha a guy.

After a whispered conversation with the mister, Ruby commanded, "C'mon. Let's see the merchandise!"

The guy clapped his hands twice and a half-dozen man-whores filed into the room. They were all decked out in butt-hugging short pants and skimpy, see-through shirts. Their expressions were anything but enthusiastic, their eyes cast down submissively. They lined up in a row, arms at their sides, waiting to be appraised, like livestock at a cattle market.

Ruby sidled along the line of possibles, brazenly checking out each guy's muscles and his, ahem, package. She tipped up each guy's chin with one finger and smirked in their faces, before picking out a couple guys she approved of.

"Between these two hotties, I'd say," she pronounced, indicating the two tallest guys in the line. "Big guys for my big girlfriend."

Samantha sighed deeply. She was going to have to pretend to go through with this thing. Hopefully the working-boy would have the tact to take her money and say nothing about her sitting this one out.

She walked over to the guys and made a show of giving them a once-over. It didn't really matter which she chose, but for some reason she felt like she should pick the handsomer guy. It was a petty payback on Ruby, taking the best guy for herself.

The one she chose looked like being the older of the two, a couple inches shy of her height and nicely built. She stared in his face and, surprisingly, he met her gaze almost defiantly. She suddenly felt there was something... simpatico about the guy. She really couldn't say why.

She put a hand on his arm. "This guy'll do, I guess," she said.

Ruby grinned, rubbing up against the other big guy.

"Then I guess YOU get lucky tonight, gorgeous," she snickered, slapping him on the butt.

She dragged him out of the line with a firm grip on his wrist. He followed submissively, used to this degrading treatment. Without a word, the two working-guys led the ladies down a short, dimly lit corridor into two small bedrooms at the back of the building.

~o~

The shabby room Samantha found herself in had little in it but a bed. The hooker closed the door behind them and began to strip off his flimsy clothing. Samantha started to panic.

"No," she yelped. "It's OK. You don't have to do that."

The guy stopped what he was doing. "Wanna undress me yourself, missus?" he asked.

Samantha shook her head. "No. No, I- I, uh, wanna talk, is all. Nothing more."

"You wanna TALK?" he repeated warily.

He had had talkers before, often religious nutjobs trying to 'save his soul'. Those he could do without.

"How much to talk?" she quickly asked.

The guy sighed. "Same," he answered. "Same whether you want it or not. Still gotta pay the going rate for my time. Not doing this for fun, missus."

Samantha chuckled nervously. "That's OK. I, uh, I'm only here because my, uh, friend wanted to come. Didn't want... Don't want..."

The hooker stared at her for a moment, then he visibly relaxed and flopped down on the bed, shrugging his shirt back on.

"Sure, I can talk," he said. "Whatever blows your skirt up. ...Missus."

Samantha perched gingerly on the end of the bed.

"My friend kinda dared me to do this," she explained. "Because I never..."

"Ah," responded the guy, a little smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "It's that way. I see."

He knew that scenario pretty well. The nervous virgin is brought in by her friends to lose her cherry to a pro. It happened.

Samantha glanced at him and smiled.

"Funny, huh? Me still inexperienced at my age?" she said. "But I got my reasons."

"Sure you have," he replied, looking Samantha up and down. "You're kinda... different."

Samantha inhaled sharply. What did he mean? Was he simply suggesting she was some kind of freak, or had he guessed something? She imagined that a guy in his profession would have seen all sorts. She wondered what he would say if he only knew her secret.

"I'm not a lesbian," Samantha said quickly. "It's not that."

She knew people had suspected her of that before. Female homosexuality was illegal in the USC, because it was commonly believed lesbians were anti-motherhood. Giving birth was one of the things that made women superior to men, what the USC Constitution was based on.

The law was very strict about all kinds of what was seen as 'deviant' morality. Even, well, even Samantha had to be very careful just BEING herself, not actually DOING anything at all. She had to play her cards very close to her chest, and she had been doing it so long it had gotten automatic.  
The guy chuckled and shifted to sit more comfortably, plumping the pillows of his bed.

"Don't matter none to me if you are," he commented. "Seen a lot worse."

"I'll bet you have," thought Samantha.

She imagined he got to deal with more than his share of aggressively hormone-fuelled she-women.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Samantha nervously checked her watch. The guy noticed.

"Ten minutes oughta do it," he chuckled. "Knowing Jay. He gets right down to business."

Jay? The other guy's name was Jay? She hadn't thought about them having names. She looked at the young guy in front of her curiously.

"What's your name? I mean, what can I call you?" she asked, for something to say.

The guy snorted. "They call me Smith," he said. "Not my real name."

Samantha nodded. Like strippers and other 'adult entertainers', these guys had working names for their clients' use.

"Of course," she remarked. "They call me Samantha... Also not my real name."

Smith smiled, more genuinely this time. "Hello, Samantha," he said.

"Hello, Smith," Samantha replied.

They filled in a little time talking about impersonal things like the weather, until Smith reckoned that they had wasted long enough to fool Ruby, then Samantha left.

She met up with her friend in the lobby. As she reached for her purse, Ruby stopped her.

"Already taken care of," the smaller woman told her. "Have fun?" she asked, grinning dirtily. "I sure did."

Samantha nodded. "Yes," she answered, awkwardly. "It was... fine... OK."

They started for home, Ruby shaking her head in disbelief at Samantha's lack of enthusiasm.

"You are one strange woman, Sami," she remarked, unaware of the irony of that comment.

"If you only knew the half of it," thought Samantha, praying that she never would.

TBC

* * *

A/N: So Samantha has made friends: one nice, one naughty. And then there's Smith? Next chapter coming soon.


	8. A Light In The Darkness

A/N: Samantha has returned from the manhouse feeling anxious...

* * *

Bought And Sold (Chapter 8: A Light In The Darkness) by frostygossamer

* * *

All through her classes the next day, Samantha's thoughts constantly went back to her trip to Plucky's manhouse. She wondered if the little she had admitted to that dubious guy Smith might have been too much. Could she trust a guy like him? A hooker? A criminal? Then again, wasn't it part of a whore's job to keep their client's secrets? Or was that some sort of romantic cliché?

What if Ruby went back there? Samantha was sure she would. She had enjoyed herself the last time with that guy Jay. What if she chose Smith next time? What if he talked about Samantha? Laughed about her? If Ruby even found out they hadn't actually had sex she might guess something was screwy. That could NOT happen.

By the end of the school day, Samantha had worked herself into a stew. She decided she really had to see Smith again, to put her mind at rest.

So, early that evening, she made her way to the little back lane where Plucky's was hidden away. She hesitated for a moment or two in the alley outside before entering and approaching the mister. He was sitting behind the little reception desk leafing idly through a questionable magazine.

"I, uh, I was hoping I could... Last night I was with one of your..." she stammered. "His, uh, name was Smith."

The mister grinned widely, his gold fillings glinting in the sparkly electric lights.

"Smith, missus? Certainly," he immediately responded. "I'll call him right away, missus," and he clapped his hands.

When a small skinny boy appeared, the mister sent him to bring Smith out at once. A second later the young guy came out to the reception area, hastily pulling on his 'costume' like he had been interrupted in his downtime.

Samantha tried a little nervous smile, which only resulted in a bowed head from Smith. He led her to the room they had used the night before and closed the door behind them, leaning on it. Once inside he relaxed, a faint smirk playing across his face.

"You again," he began pleasantly. "Come to claim the lay I owe you from last night, huh?"

Samantha wasn't sure if she was pleased or upset that he seemed to recognize her so quickly. She had hoped these guys would have developed a professional amnesia for client's faces.

"No." She shook her head. "It's not that. Needed to ask you something, is all."

"Oh?" responded Smith, sitting on the bed and crossing his legs under him. "Ask me what?"

Samantha paced the room a few turns, unsure of how to explain her fears.

"It's... What we talked about last night. You, uh, you wouldn't repeat it to anyone, would you?"

"What?" Smith asked, confused and searching his memory. "That you didn't use your real name? Could care less about that. Who uses their real name in a manhouse anyways?"

Samantha sighed and sat down on the foot of the bed.

"It's not only that," she said quietly. "You said you could tell I was kinda different. And I am. Got a secret and I could get in a whole lotta trouble if it got out."

She paused, not sure if she wasn't digging herself deeper into the hole she was in.

Smith studied her silently for a moment, then he suddenly said, "You're a guy," like that.

Samantha gasped. "How did you know?" she demanded, now feeling painfully transparent.

"Didn't," Smith answered, smirking. "Until now. Educated guess maybe? This line of work, you gotta learn to read people."

Samantha's heart shrank a little. The cat was out of the bag. She may as well come clean and hope she could swear the guy to silence. She exhaled resignedly. Perching on the bed closer to Smith, she looked straight in his eyes, her own hazel eyes pleading for his sympathy.

"I, uh, I go to school, here in the city. Obviously a college education isn't for males. I live as a female. It's been freakin' hard."

"I'll bet," Smith commented, laughing. "But you're doing an awesome job."

Samantha felt oddly flattered that he should say that.

She chuckled. "Do my best. But try running in high heels when you top six feet four."

They both laughed until their laughter turned sad, then Smith smiled gently and patted Samantha's hand.

"Won't tell a soul. I swear." He crossed his heart. "Whore's like a priest. Secrets of the confessional, yeah? Know how to keep my mouth shut," and he made a zipping the lips gesture.

Samantha smiled, a little relieved. "Thanks," she said.

There was something about this guy, she couldn't say what it was, made her feel he could be trusted.

"It's OK, Samantha," Smith assured her, squeezing her hand, his eyes seeking hers again. "Your secret's safe with me. Got no reason to snitch on you."

For some reason Samantha found she had to believe the sincerity in those eyes.

~o~

Much later, in the early hours before dawn, when the last lady-client of the day had gone, Smith's room was finally his own. A blistering hot shower had restored a little of his self-respect and he felt more like himself again.

Smith was the most popular piece of goods at Plucky's after Vic, the brawny black guy built like a barn door who had been a boxing hopeful before he lost too many fights. The difference was Vic kind of enjoyed his work. Smith hated every moment of it.

It wasn't that the work was hard. It had been a long time since he had failed to perform what was expected of him, even with the most unappealing client. It was just that it was so impersonal, automatonlike, joyless. Any pleasure that he might have once had from the act of sex had long since vanished, to be replaced with the depressing certainty that this was all his life was worth.

Every day at the manhouse was the same. Every night the procession of ladies he had pleasured that day faded into nothing more than an unpleasant jumble in his mind. But that night it was different. One face stood out from the crowd. Only one. Samantha's.

He opened the little drawer in his nightstand and reached past the big box of fancy condoms, props for the clients' enjoyment. All the guys in Plucky's manhouse had been chemically sterilized anyways.

His searching fingers closed around the little token safely hidden from prying eyes in back.

"Well, baby bro," he told the amulet. "Reckon maybe I made a friend today. Only hope I see her, uh, him again. Could use someone to talk to, besides you. Someone who can talk back for a change."

He looped the cord carrying the little token around his neck, as he did every night, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

~o~

After leaving Smith, Samantha returned to her dorm room feeling strangely buoyant. A weight had lifted off of her athletically broad shoulders when she had shared her secret with another soul. She should have been worried but, strangely, she somehow sensed Smith was the ONE person who could understand her predicament and not judge her. After all they were both living a precarious life outside the law. They could both be run in by the police anytime. They were both miscreants, deviants, degenerates, according to the state.

It was ridiculous really that for a few dollars she had been finally able to unburden herself, unburden herself of a secret she had shared only with two other people, her father and her teacher. Sadly, John had passed away the previous year from consumption, a result of his unhealthy working conditions. Missouri Mosley, the unorthodox teacher who had first proposed they pass off her most promising boy pupil as a beribboned schoolgirl, was now in a nursing home following a stroke. For so long Samantha had had to bear her secret alone. It had felt so good to just fess up to someone, anyone.

It was lonely, living a fake life, hiding her true self from everyone. So Samantha began to frequent Plucky's, once or twice every week, to visit with Smith and spend a little time together simply talking. She found she could just afford it from the bit of spare cash she made tutoring a few of the weaker students. The two of them gradually developed a tentative friendship, as much as a whore can be friends with his client. They talked about all sorts of things, but they were both reluctant to speak about their unhappy pasts.

"Where'd you come from?" Smith asked Samantha one day, after they had known each other for a couple months. "I mean, where'd you grow up. In the city?"

Samantha smiled, remembering her childhood in Lawren, which now seemed so far-off, like it had happened to someone else.

"Grew up in a little nowhere place in the boonies. You wouldn't know it," she recalled sadly. "My mom died when I was only a baby. Left us without a head of the family. We had almost nothing to live on. Dad took in mending and such, but he was only a guy. He could barely support two growing kids on a man's pittance."

"Two?" Smith asked. "You had a sister? Or a brother?"

"A brother," Samantha answered. "But he left the USA for the UQ before I even went to school. Never heard a peep from him since. Guess he forgot about me."

"Harsh," commented Smith.

"Dad didn't have the money to send both of us to school. But, after my brother left, he somehow scraped together enough to send me to elementary school. Missus Mosley's Elementary School. I was her star pupil."

Smith chuckled. "Her star pupil a non-girl, huh? Musta really pissed her off."

Samantha shook her head. "Actually, Missus Mosley was kinduva liberal. She believed in coeducation. Shocking, huh? She'd actually marched for opening up college to male students when she was younger."

"Way to go, sister!" Smith cheered, sarcastically.

Naturally, women who agitated for masculine rights were considered eccentric or subversive, even by most males.

"It was Missus Mosley who came up with the plan," Samantha went on.

"The plan?" queried Smith.

"The plan to dress me as a girl, get me false papers. So I could enrol in college as a freshwoman."

"Amazing," commented Smith. He had never heard of such a thing before. "You mean this is not about passing for female? Reckoned you kinda... liked it, you know. The dresses, the underwear..."

Smith had assumed that Samantha was merely some kind of transvestite or transsexual. Not that there was anything 'mere' about it. Trans-anything-ism was considered a very grave crime against the state. No way could any man EVER be allowed to mimic womankind. Many thought it could destabilize the government.

"No, no," Sam insisted. "This was always ALL about college. Had to get into college for Dad. Needed to become all I could be."

"Well you sure did that," Smith had to agree.

Thinking about her late father again made Samantha's heart feel profoundly heavy.

"Dad was SO proud of me, getting that scholarship," she murmured. "Guess my brother would be too. If he ever thinks of me."

That thought, that brothers could forget each other, made Smith feel a little angry.

"If I had me a little brother I could NEVER forget about him," he snapped.

Samantha sighed. "Can't blame him. Guess he had to go try and find his fortune. Hope he found it. Shame dad had to pass without seeing him again. Couldn't even write him the bad news."

Smith turned and glanced at his nightstand, silently pledging his amulet that, unlike Samantha's jerk of a brother, HE would never forget those HE loved.

They were all that kept him going.

TBC

* * *

A/N: They haven't worked it out yet, and they won't for a while longer. More soon.


	9. Love In A Hopeless Place

A/N: Got held up again, but finally a new chapter arrives.

* * *

Bought And Sold (Chapter 9: Love In A Hopeless Place) by frostygossamer

* * *

Samantha had a midterm the following week, so Smith didn't see her for a several days. It did not feel good.

Outside his chats with his new friend, Smith could go all week without having a real conversation with anyone. It had been that way ever since he had arrived at Plucky's all those years ago, dragged there straight off of the train with a sack pulled down over his head like some damn turkey headed for the butcher.

He might as well have been headed there. Where he ended up had turned out to be a hundred times worse.

After drugging him, Bela had left him in the 'care' of professional hitwoman Meg, expecting that he would be 'dealt with' in accordance with his matriarch-in-law's orders. Meg, however, had had other, more profitable ideas. She had handed him over to the cold-hearted Missus Pennywhistle, shady owner of Plucky's, in exchange for a substantial 'finder's fee'.

"New merchandise," Meg had called him, in her lazy drawl. "Practically unused. Ain't that right, sugarbun?"

Pennywhistle had made sure that he never again so much as stepped outside, or exchanged one word with an honest citizen. He knew he might as well have been dead, as far as the rest of the world was concerned. Sometimes it felt like he was living in some hellish bubble while the real world passed him by. Sometimes he felt like HE wasn't even real anymore. He was just Smith the living sex-toy, nothing else.

That name. Smith? Pennywhistle had given him that name, telling him that his old life was over. Everyone had been calling him Smith for so long he had all but forgotten his real one.

Dean, that was it. Dean Campbell, son of Mary and John Campbell, brother of little Sam.

Actually, he preferred the alias now. He didn't need any of these people to know who he really was, deep inside where his memories still clung, where THEY couldn't touch.

He could vividly recall how bleary and confused he had been the first time he had woken up properly in this dismal place, after falling asleep on the train happy. He knew immediately that he had been drugged from the way his head throbbed and his eyes refused to focus for the longest time.

He was still almost an innocent back then. His heartless keepers had had to explain to him what exactly went on in a manhouse, and exactly what they expected him to do if he wanted to live. He would be a sex slave, no less, servicing female clients for nothing more than a bed and a little food, and with no chance of escape. That was made very plain to him.

"We own you now, boy. Make no trouble and your kid'll be left alone," Pennywhistle had informed him, sternly. "Otherwise..." and she had made the throat-slitting gesture.

Dean knew exactly what she meant. Otherwise they would take little Samuel from Bobby's refuge as easily as they had taken him. Bobby would try but he wouldn't be able to stop them, not if they were determined, and packing heat. Dean guessed the police wouldn't help him. They barely put up with the refuge in their jurisdiction as it was. The poor kid, his beloved little son Samuel, would never get to see another birthday.

He soon realized that he had to be obedient and do as he was told, for Samuel. There was nothing else he could do. So Dean had remained a prisoner, forgotten he thought, trusting in his belief that someplace his family, John, Sam and little Samuel, were safe and well without him.

Dean was glad to sacrifice his happiness for them. After all, he wasn't important. He didn't matter.

Then things changed. He had made a new friend, Samantha the boy-genius who was willing to live as a woman just so he could get a college education. That really took some guts. He cared about Samantha, and Samantha cared about him right back.

He chuckled sadly, thinking about how his own little brother would have loved a chance at college. But poor Sammy would have been lucky to see the inside of elementary school. No high school for him. HE would have had to work and work hard to help out his old dad, too hard to worry about what had become of his big brother. Too bad if he had been forgotten, Dean reckoned.

Dean smiled sadly and touched his amulet, Sam's last gift. He wondered how his short-stuff brother Sam was. Well, at least he wasn't having to put up with the crappiness his big-boned buddy Samantha, or whatever his birth name was, had to endure every damn day.

Samantha. He prayed that he would be seeing her soon.

He didn't know what he would do if she forgot him too.

~o~

Samantha finally returned to Plucky's manhouse, anxious to tell her friend how she had done in the midterms, and Smith, or rather Dean, was delighted to see her.

"Hey, been a while," he said, trying not to overdo the enthusiasm. "How'd you do? Aced 'em I'd guess, huh?"

"Pretty much," she admitted, glancing down nervously, her eyes hidden behind her bangs.

As they sat enjoying what little sun could penetrate the streaky windows of Dean's room, Dean gazed at her in wonderment. How the heck could such a giant of a cross-dresser look so endearingly shy? Suddenly he realized that he had never once seen Samantha out of character, without her make-up or with her hair down.

"Ever go out without the paint, Samantha?" he asked. His curiosity was piqued.

"Never!" she gasped. "Look freakin' hideous without my make-up on and my hair fixed."

Her pal Jessica had often commented on the way Samantha kept the full-length mirror in her dorm room covered up. The truth was, she hated to see herself out of drag. After all the years of faking femininity, her own body just seemed weird.

"Doubt that," Dean chuckled. "Seriously."

Maybe she wouldn't pass as a woman without the frills, but he reckoned Samantha's features had a certain handsome quality to them even so. There was something about those hazel eyes that appealed to him for reasons he couldn't explain.

"Lemme take this crap off of you," he insisted.

He snatched a package of beauty wipes from his nightstand drawer. Hey, his clients needed to fix their make-up before leaving, right? Samantha dodged his first attempt but he grabbed the back of her neck with a gentle but firm hand and forced her to remain still.

"How long you been a girl?" he asked, as he carefully wiped away a thick layer of powder and blush. "There," he added, finishing up. "Not so hideous, huh?"

"Daylight hours, since I was fourteen. High school. And all the time since I been in the city, 24/7," Samantha answered, feeling strangely exposed, as if, powder-free, this guy would see right through her.

"Ever wanna see how you look as a guy?" asked Dean. "Musta changed some in the last couple years."

Samantha looked down at herself. That thought scared her a little. She had gotten used to play acting. The reality of her male body was something she chose not to think about. It only made life harder.

"Dunno," she whispered, uncertainly.

"C'mon," Dean insisted, standing up and marching to his tiny closet in the corner of the room. "Wanna see you in pants."

Samantha sighed and stood up from her chair, still a little reluctant.

Then, "Why not?" she decided, loosening her hair and shaking out that glorious, shoulder-length, chestnut mane.

Standing with his back to her, Dean was selecting a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt from his closet. He was only a few inches shy of Samantha's height, so they looked like they would maybe fit.

Samantha stripped off her female clothing, her dress, her slip, her stockings, down to her pink silk tap pants and padded brassiere. Dean turned around right as she unhooked and pulled off the comical thing. He did a double take.

"Boy, are you ripped!" he gasped, eyes wide with admiration.

Samantha, suddenly revealed as unquestionably male, bashfully covered HIS chest with his arms, which simply served to make his shoulders appear broader. A nervous giggle escaped his lips as he avoided Dean's awed stare.

"Gotta keep myself fit," he explained, awkwardly. "Can't help it if it makes me kinda... chunky."

Dean threw the clothes on the bed and walked over, lifting Samantha's chin to look him in the face. Dean's expression was one of total admiration. Sam's face was crumpled with embarrassment.

"You're fine. You know that?" Dean whispered softly.

No one had ever complimented Samantha's body that way before. He had grown up feeling gawky and clumsy. And, in his recent transvestite years, he had been painfully aware of how ridiculously unfeminine he looked to the eyes of both his bitchy and his more sympathetic female classmates. He couldn't help blushing, which only made him more ashamed.

He and Dean locked gaze for a moment. There was something warm and gentle in Dean's gaze. Samantha could feel the young man's breath gently ghost over his cheek.

He whimpered. "I'm not... queer," he hissed. "At least... I don't think..."

Honestly, he wasn't sure he even had a sexuality anymore. Romance had been so totally off the table for so much of his life.

"Neither am I," responded Dean, smiling up at him tenderly. "But... this once, I think I wouldn't mind... with someone I care about, someone I chose myself."

Samantha nodded. "I get that," he said. "Really do."

He leaned down and Dean's face tilted up to meet his. He kissed him, kissed Dean gently on the lips. Dean wrapped his fingers around the back of Samantha's neck and pulled him down, deepening the moment. A moment that seemed to last forever until, eventually, they pulled apart.

"I owe you," Dean said meaningfully. "Owe you and want you. Because you get me. Like no one else ever has."

Samantha couldn't help but mirror that sentiment. And right then, he knew that he hadn't only come to this guy because he needed someone to confide in. That wasn't all they shared together. It was the unhappy past neither could bring themselves to talk about. It was the yawning, aching loneliness they both felt every day. It was a need to be with someone, anyone, who 'got' that sadness. Who already felt it without having to be told, because the telling would be too much to bear. This guy, this stranger, and he shared something, something deep, something special.

Long repressed feelings surged up inside him like a tidal wave.

Dean let the taller guy push him backward onto the bed and cover him with his body. Barely clothed, in moments they were naked and wrapped around each other. Neither of them had been with a man before, so it was a voyage of discovery for both. A voyage into strange territory, into a magical land where every touch, every lick, every kiss was a wonderful new revelation neither had been permitted to enjoy before.

Jaded from too much of the wrong sort of sex, Dean gave himself up to the heat of genuine passion emanating from his larger, stronger, more earnest partner.

"God, feels so good," he gasped between kisses. "Baby, you feel like heaven."

Sensing, from his clumsy fumbling, that the big guy's inexperience was hampering him, he rolled him onto his back and straddled his waist. His lover gazed up at him, confused, eyes glassy with emotion.

"Lemme show you," Dean whispered, grasping him in a firm but gentle fist. "Know EXACTLY what you need."

"Smith, I-" Samantha began. Dean cut him off with a desperate kiss.

He didn't want to hear that name. Not now.

TBC

* * *

A/N: o_O! Oh dear! Accidental wincest as warned. More soon.


	10. The Truth About Love

A/N: 'Samantha' and 'Smith' have just shared a few moments of passion together...

* * *

Bought And Sold (Chapter 10: The Truth About Love) by frostygossamer

* * *

When finally they fell apart, emotionally elated yet physically exhausted, Samantha sighed and pulled Dean against his broad chest, cradling him close. Dean pressed his face into the big guy's shoulder, momentarily unable to speak. Despite sharing his bed with countless women, Dean had never before experienced the tenderness he felt from this gentle, affection-starved guy.

Eventually he pulled away and chuckled, "You're gonna have to pay for an extra session. We're over time."

Samantha smiled into the top of his head. "Worth it," he murmured.

"Thank you," Dean responded politely.

But inside, Dean knew that they had already crossed that line. This wasn't a working-boy and client thing anymore. This thing they had was turning into something else.

They were falling in love.

"Tell me your name," he said. "Your REAL name. Who are you really?"

Samantha stared at him for a moment, then looked away. "I'm sorry, Smith," he breathed.

Secrecy had become a way of life for him. He got out of bed, grabbed his clothes and, in a couple seconds, he was dressed. He placed Dean's additional payment on the nightstand, though Dean tried to stop him. No need for the guy to get in trouble, Samantha thought. Then, with his hand on the doorknob, he suddenly changed his mind.

Turning toward Dean, he quickly gabbled, "My name is Sam Campbell, from Lawren, Kansas."

Then he slipped out the door and was gone.

All Dean could do was stare dumbly at the closed door.

~o~

Dean knew that falling in love with a client was a big no-no.

Since coming to Plucky's, he had learned to accept his life as a male whore, servicing women of all sorts, old, ugly, twisted, violent, whatever. A backstreet manhouse like his got them all. He had seen and done some nasty things, and had some nasty things done to him. That was part of the job. He had gritted his teeth and gotten down with what he had to do. Had no choice.

There was Samuel, his little son. Only as long as Dean played along would Samuel be safe, they said. The ruthless woman who owned Dean knew where the kid was, knew about Bobby's refuge. He absolutely believed her threats to snatch and off the poor kid if he overstepped the line.

She and her people would get away with it too. They had the police in their pockets.

Dean was screwed from the start.

So he had played along, obeyed their every whim, because he believed he didn't matter. As long as everyone he loved was OK, his own happiness was unimportant.

These were the thoughts that ran through Dean's head as he went about his day, giving his clients whatever they wanted. His body did the work, his brain was never involved, his mind occupied with doubts and fears.

Why it couldn't have stayed that way he didn't know. Because when he met Samantha things had changed. There was someone who cared about him. Someone who made him feel like he mattered, that he was human again. Samantha made him feel alive.

So the kid was really a guy. So what? Dean couldn't find it in him to care about that anymore. He had long since stopped being turned on much by women anyways. Sex with a client was mechanical, nothing more. What he had found with Samantha was special, real. But loving Sam was making it harder and harder for him to put on an act for his clients.

Then he had to go ask Samantha's real name. Why in hell had he done that?

Sam Campbell? Seriously? How could the guy's name be Sam Campbell, of all names? And, no, he could NOT be his brother. Could NOT be. Or could he? Dean knew his luck was pretty god-awful. But, Jeez, even HE couldn't be THAT unlucky.

Oh yeah, he could.

All he had to do was ask the kid a couple questions, then he would know for sure. Or he could pretend like it wasn't true, like it was some goddamn evil coincidence. Because, if it WAS true, what they had done was wrong. He would have to end it. They had made ONE mistake, and it was nobody's fault, if they ended it right away.

If.

But how could he? He was too damn chicken to do the right thing. He was scared, scared that, if he knew, Sam would walk out that door and never come back. Sure he would. How would he do anything else? Dean had no doubt Sam would never want to see him again, and he couldn't bear the thought of being left alone in that hell of a place. Not anymore.

Dean was a coward.

So he wouldn't tell Sam. Just let Sam go on thinking he was 'Smith'. But, when Sam eventually found out, and, with Dean's luck, he was sure to work it out sometime, he was going to hate Dean for not fessing up. Dean was going to lose the only ray of hope he had left.

He was SO screwed.

~o~

Back at school, Samantha, still blissfully unaware of Smith's real identity, was feeling more at peace with her own heart than she had felt in all the years of pretence. She was actually singing to herself in her dorm room that Saturday morning, when her buddy Jessica called by.

"You sound happy," the blonde commented, with a cheerful smile.

Samantha grinned. "I AM happy," she said. "It's a beautiful day, Jess. Feel like life is totally peachy right now."

"Since it's so fine out, why don't we eat in town today," Jess suggested. "We can have lunch at this sweet little French place I found the other day."

"Hmm," agreed Samantha. "Why not? Really need to go clothes shopping anyways. Don't have ANYTHING nice to wear."

She riffled through her clothes closet. Everything in there was drab and plain, chosen not to draw any attention to her body. Ever since Smith had made her see how attractive she really was, shown her how beautiful she was to him, she had felt more confident in her looks. She wanted to show off her physique a little, even if it could only be in a dress.

"Wonderful," agreed Jess. "I'll go get my purse."

~o~

They spent the morning in a series of stores that catered for the larger lady. The kind with the discreet private fitting rooms where Samantha could try things on alone. After a fruitful few hours, they were both hungry and almost fit to drop. Jessica had been awesome, helping Samantha make fashionable choices that flattered her less delicate frame. It wasn't an easy task, but Jess never once made Samantha feel freakish. She reckoned she had found a real friend in Jess.

They eventually wound up at 'La Belle Patisserie', Jess' new favourite eating place. It was quiet and the servery counter was laden with tempting cakes and pastries of all kinds. They took a table near the window.

A few minutes later, the young waiter came and politely took their order.

"So," began Jessica. "What's got you so full of high spirits, hmm?"

"Oh, nothing," Samantha replied hastily. "The gorgeous summer weather, I guess."

Jessica smirked. "If I didn't know you better, sweetie, I'd say there's a new guy in your life."

Samantha inhaled. Was it so obvious? Jessica took that as a yes.

"Ooh," she squeaked. "Do tell me all about him."

Samantha considered. Unlike Ruby, Jessica could be trusted to keep a secret, up to a point. Samantha would never reveal her biggest secret even to her, but if she was vague about Smith...? If wasn't exactly strange for a woman to have a boyfriend.

"It's true," she admitted slowly. "There IS a guy in my life. But, Jess, you mustn't tell ANYONE, particularly not Ruby. Swear?"

Jessica knew exactly what she meant about rumourmonger Ruby.

"I swear. Never tell a living soul. Cross my heart," she answered solemnly. "And especially not Ruby with her big fat mouth," she added with a giggle.

Samantha smiled. "He's a real sweet guy," she began, picturing Smith as she spoke. "Had a real hard life and yet he's so understanding. Gotta respect him so much for that. And he really makes me feel good about myself."

"Do I know him?" Jessica asked, now curious.

Samantha almost laughed at that idea. Jessica was a nice girl. No way would she ever go near a manhouse.

"No," she said, firmly. "Definitely no."

This only made her friend a little more inquisitive. "Can I meet him?" she wondered.

No, no, no! The thought that Jessica and Smith could ever meet filled Samantha with dread.

"Maybe," she lied. "Maybe one day."

Jessica smiled sweetly. "Well, he seems to be doing you good, Samantha. You've been so upbeat lately. Tell me, what's his name, hmm?"

Samantha was about to articulate Smith's name, thinking it would be safe with Jessica. How she longed to be able to discuss her new love with her closest girlfriend like a normal person. But right then their young waiter reappeared at Jess' elbow with their order. He leaned forward right as she leaned toward Samantha and they collided, tipping the cafetière and dribbling a little coffee on the starched white tablecloth.

Jessica nearly had kittens.

"You clumsy, good-for-nothing, mono-x-chromosomal moron," she snapped. "Damn goof-off non-girl. They could train an ape to serve better than some brainless boy. I ought to call your manager and get your dumb male ass kicked right out of here."

The timid boy shrank back, as if he had been burned. Horrified, he began grovelling in tongue-tied apology, afraid for his job.

Samantha was totally taken aback by Jess' female chauvinist diatribe. She withdrew into herself, closing up like a startled clam. Who had she been kidding? Jessica wasn't her real friend, only a friend of the persona she was hiding behind. She might appear soft-hearted and liberal on the outside, but inside she was like every other woman, inured with the femalist sense of superiority. Samantha could no more trust her than she could trust Ruby. At least Ruby was upfront about her sexism.

Having thoroughly humiliated the boy, Jessica laughed at his retreating back. After blatantly checking out his butt, she returned her attention to Samantha.

"You were saying...?" she asked, helping herself to a cup of coffee as if nothing had happened.

Samantha shook her head. "N-nothing," she stuttered. "Nothing at all. Uh, two sugars for me, thanks Jess."

~o~

That evening Samantha returned to her dorm room feeling a little less hopeful for womankind. She dumped her bags on the floor and sat on her bed staring at them forlornly for a long while. Why had she ever thought she could live as one of these people? They would no more accept her, if they knew what she really was, than a pack of hunting dogs would accept a rabbit in their midst. Nothing was ever going to change.

As she sat there feeling low, one of her bags slumped over and a pair of jeans fell out on the floor. Between the dresses, shoes and scarves, Samantha had managed to slip one or two unisex items in with her purchases. Rummaging around, she located a dark blue jersey top that would look passably masculine if she removed the pink lace insert in the V neck and the girly frill on the sleeves. She reached for her scissors.

When she had finished snipping, she stood up and pulled her nondescript dress off over her head. She removed everything but her panties, and there he was again, Sam, broad chest, shoulders and long, strong legs.

Sam slipped into his new jeans and yanked the faux silk shawl, the one Jessica had given him for Christmas, off of his cheval mirror. He pulled the navy shirt on over his head. It clung to his masculine outline like a second skin. He had to admire his image in the glass. He looked the picture of athletic manhood, like something from a woman's beefcake magazine.

He was so busy admiring himself that he failed to hear the door creak open behind him.

As it turns out, Sam's luck wasn't much better than Dean's.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh dear. Who's come along and caught him out of costume? More soon.


	11. We Almost Had It All

A/N: Who's that peeking in Sam's door? Well, I said she'd be back... N.B. Mention of non-con.

* * *

Bought And Sold (Chapter 11: We Almost Had It All) by frostygossamer

* * *

Ruby had been on her way down to grab some dinner in the dining-hall when she spotted the door to Samantha's room was open a tiny crack. She couldn't resist stopping by to share some witty, read bitchy, repartee with her big buddy. Geeky Samantha was SO much fun to bait.

Opening the door gently, the little brunette almost did a double take when she discovered the only person in the dorm room was... a guy.

She licked her lips. A guy was the last thing she had expected to run across in her friend Samantha's room. From his rear view she could see that he was definitely a hunk, tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. She couldn't help salivating at the sight of those glorious glutes, as he stood with his back to her admiring his own reflection.

She inhaled audibly. "Oh hi, cutie," she said, in that treacherously teasing tone she used to seduce boys. "You must be Sami's new honey. Lemme introduce myself. I'm her so much more sexy pal Ruby."

Sam froze in place, knowing the moment he turned around the game would be up. Ruby approached him from behind, cupping his ass-cheeks in both hands.

"You sure got yourself one fine pair of buns on you, baby," she growled, squeezing firmly.

Sam prayed with everything he had that a fire alarm, or any damn thing, would interrupt them before he had to turn around. He reached behind and grabbed Ruby's hands, yanking them away from his butt.

"No!" he said firmly, in his most masculine voice, surprising even himself.

Ruby recoiled for a second, honestly amazed by his uncooperative reaction. She wasn't used to being turned down so disrespectfully by a mere guy.

"Hey, baby," she objected, frowning. "Only tryna be friendly. You frigid or what?"

Sam quickly span around and, in one move, seized Ruby by the shoulder, clapping his other hand over her mouth. She squeaked in protest, but then her eyes widened as she took in his face, recognition coming slowly. She prised his hand off of her mouth.

"Oh sweetie," she said, a wicked sparkle in her eyes. "This sure does explain one helluva LOT. A guy into lace, huh? Shoulda guessed you were some kinda freak, girlfriend."  
Sam ran and blocked the door, cutting off Ruby's escape.

"Ruby, y-you c-can NOT tell anyone," he stammered. "You KNOW what'd happen. I'd be thrown right out of school."

"Thrown out of school?" Ruby laughed. "You gotta be fooling with me. You'll be tossed straight in the SLAMMER for a stunt like this. Passing yourself off as a WOMAN? It's freakin' outrageous. You'll be lucky if they don't throw away the goddamn key. And whoever put you up to this..."

Sam's blood ran cold, knowing Ruby was absolutely right. Impersonating a female was a really serious offence and he had no defence whatsoever.

"Listen, Ruby, I'll do anything," he begged. "Gotta finish school. Gotta graduate. It's all I ever wanted. I-I'll get money..."

"Oh sure," chuckled Ruby. "The poorest student in school is gonna pay me off. And how would you do that? Walk the freakin' streets? Sell that magnificent body of yours?"

Ruby moved toward him, raking her eyes over his manly shape. His thin shirt was stretched temptingly over well developed muscles she couldn't help but want to touch.

She grinned dirtily, her dark eyes shining. "Come to think of it. Not such a bad idea. Suppose you let ME have the benefit of those bone-crushing thighs? Never had me a she-boy before. How about it? Pleasure me, baby, and maybe I'll keep your shocking crime to myself. For now."

Sam shuddered. This was blatant sexual blackmail, but what other choice did he have? He was trapped between a rock and a hard place.

"O... kay" he responded slowly. "Whatever you say, Ruby. Don't need any trouble. I'll do anything you want."

Ruby stepped forward and rubbed herself up against his body like a cat.

"Oh, baby, you will," she purred evilly. "You most certainly will."

~o~

A couple hours later, when the latch had clicked shut behind Ruby, Sam lay on his wrecked bed, naked and used. Ruby had forced him to perform all manner of filthy sexual acts with her, and he felt dirty and violated. Worse still, before she left, she had made it plain that she expected to enjoy more sessions of carnality, with Sam as her reluctant victim, as long as he wanted to remain in school. It was the cruelest kind of coercion and he had had no choice but to submit to it.

Sam got up and stripped the bed, wishing he could burn the sheets, then he stumbled into the shower. He spent long minutes scrubbing away the feel of Ruby's unwanted hands on his skin.

The thing was, in other circumstances, he would have been totally turned on by the touch of a good-looking female like Ruby. He was a healthy guy, after all, and Ruby was one of the hottest girls in his year. But this was different. It didn't matter that Ruby was attractive, the point was he had been forced. And that was rape by anybody's definition.

Warm tears joined the tepid water running down his face. If living as a woman all these years had taught Sam one thing, it was how to cry.

~o~

It took all the strength Sam possessed to hang in until the end of the semester. Graduation was in sight. If he could only bite his lip and keep on applying himself to his books he would get through.

If he didn't break down and crumble under Ruby's evil campaign of mental and physical cruelty.

Thank God, at least the sharp-tongued woman didn't know about Smith, Sam's only chink of light in a dark existence. Thank God, Smith didn't know about Ruby. Sam knew that his lover would be furious if he ever got an inkling of what Sam was going through. And Sam knew Smith's world would implode if he should ever find out Sam was going through the same kind of exploitation he had had to resign himself to. Sam couldn't do that to the guy.

All Sam had to do was hang tough and make it to the end of term, then he was home free. So he made excuses to his lover for not being able to see him some nights when he had to 'entertain' Ruby.

"Just got a lot on my plate right now, Smith," he had explained. "Graduation on the horizon, yeah? Gotta study real hard."

"Sure," Dean had agreed. "It's important, I know. Come see me when you can. I'll be here waiting."

But Dean had to wonder, was Sam maybe getting tired of him? Losing interest in his little sleazy fling? Still, what could Dean do about it? He wasn't going to push it. All he could do was act happy to see him whenever Sam chose to show up. That's what a good whore was supposed to do, right?

Meanwhile, Sam should have known better than to ever trust a bitch like Ruby. He should have realized she would never allow him to graduate. Immoral though she might be, she was a woman first and foremost. There was no way she was going to let Sam be the first male in the USC to earn himself a degree. Hell no!

~o~

One evening, Ruby lay idly in Sam's bed, sated and deliciously drained by their exertions. Sam lay on his stomach beside her exhausted, his face crammed in a pillow, trying to think of anything but what had just happened between them. He wanted to imagine Smith in the bed beside him, but somehow it felt like betraying his lover to use him that way.

"Know what?" Ruby began lazily. "I'm thinking that maybe you don't deserve to graduate, Sami boy."

Sam started, sitting up abruptly. "Ruby, you wouldn't..." he protested.

"Wouldn't I?" she asked, chuckling. "Well, maybe I already have."

"No!" gasped Sam. "Ruby, what have you done?"

"Oh, hardly anything," she answered. "Only sent the Dean of Admissions a little missive. Nothing much. A few lines."

Panicking, Sam grabbed her throat in his two hands, but she kept on grinning up at him, taunting.

"Wanna add MURDER to the charge sheet, huh?" she chided him. "Once the dean has opened his mail tomorrow morning, I reckon campus security will be around before noon to march your skinny ass off of the premises and into the arms of the law. You're gonna have enough explaining to do as it is. Female Imposture is a felony in this state."

Sam let go her neck and jumped out of bed, flinging her discarded things around as he scrabbled for something to wear.

"Thought we had a deal," he mumbled, as he hurriedly dragged on his jeans and fumbled for his purse. "Why would you go back on the deal, Ruby? Didn't I do everything you wanted?"

"Oh sure, Sami," she agreed airily. "But, honey, I've tried out all your tricks, pushed all your buttons and, frankly, same old same old. Time for a new model. Ran into a hot new guy at the mall only yesterday. Gave me his num-ber."

"Bitch!" spat Sam, pulling on his T-shirt.

"Oh, come on now," she chortled, plumping her pillow. "Did you really think I was gonna let you nab that pretty parchment? I should get a medal for this. Don't you agree?"

But Sam was already out the door and running down the halls.

He dropped to a walk across campus, trying not to look the way he felt. No one would recognize him in male attire, he hoped, but he really did not need to attract the attention of passers-by right then. His mind was racing. He had to think about what he was going to do next.

And his only answer was Smith. He would go to Smith.

~o~

The plump, saggy-breasted, fifty-something client had certainly had her money's worth from Dean.

"Thanks for the fun ride, sonny," she remarked coldly, as she walked out his door and life like so many others.

Dean sighed and pulled off his condom, tossing it into the trash basket in the corner of the room. He reached for his wet wipes to clean up. No point in taking a shower yet, he had a full afternoon of 'fun' ahead.

As Dean was steeling himself to receive his next client, a kafuffle started up in the hall outside his room. Suddenly Sam burst in, eyes red and puffy. He was obviously deeply upset about something.

And he was wearing pants!

"Oh Jeez, Smith," he gasped. "Dunno what to do. Ruby's informed on me to the dean. I'm gonna get busted."

Dean jumped up and guided Sam over to sit on the bed, pulling the bigger guy's head down onto his comforting shoulder.

"Wait. What? Ruby who? What the hell did she do?" he demanded in confusion.

Sam was manfully fighting back tears. He took a couple deep breaths and got back a little control.

"Ruby the so-called friend from school I came here with that first time? She wrote a letter to the Dean of Admissions denouncing me as a guy," he choked out. "And after everything I did..." he stopped himself, not wanting to let his lover know exactly WHAT he had had to do for Ruby. "This is exactly what I was afraid would happen. I'm gonna wind up in the State Pen over this."

Dean rubbed Sam's back gently. He had to agree the guy was going to be in BIG trouble. So cross dressing was a victimless crime? That wouldn't stop the poor guy going down for a long stretch. The law could sure be an ass sometimes.

"Listen, Saman- Sam," he said. "She wrote a letter, right? Means they won't get the news until tomorrow's mail. You can be a freakin' LONG way from here by then."

He laid Sam down on the bed and stroked his long, girlish hair to calm him down. Sam closed his eyes and leaned into his touch.

"You're gonna be OK," Dean cooed, but he was far from sure.

He stole a glance at his watch. His next scheduled client would be there in ten minutes.

TBC

* * *

A/N: So close and yet so far. More soon.


	12. Truth Will Come To Light

A/N: Sam has fled from Ruby into 'Smith's' arms where he succumbed to exhaustion and had a nap...

* * *

Bought And Sold (Chapter 12: Truth Will Come To Light) by frostygossamer

* * *

Sam was woken from a few minutes' light sleep by the sound of Dean stealthily re-entering his room. He had slipped out to 'deal with' a regular, a woman who came by weekly for her no-frills quickie, over in Jay's room while Jay was on his break. He had also organized Vic, the guy with the godlike stamina, to 'take care of' his next client for him this once. He was going to owe him for that favour, but Dean needed to make sure he and Sam got a couple minutes alone time. They had talking to do.

Dean smiled when he saw that Sam was awake. He climbed onto the bed beside him and pulled him close, kissing the top of his head. Sam brought his face up to Dean's and pressed their lips together. It was a long and desperate kiss, full of love and longing. When he was with his 'Smith', Sam felt he could still be hopeful. Dean? Well, he felt exactly the opposite.

"It's late. You oughta get moving," Dean whispered. "You need to go get your things and disappear tonight."

Sam leaned back, his eyes searching Dean's for a long moment.

"Come with me," he begged. "They can't keep you here. We can start new someplace else..."

Dean shook his head sadly. If only it was that easy.

"They can," he said. "They can keep me here as long as they want. Think I wouldn't've run already if I coulda?"

Sam frowned. "But why the heck not?"

Dean's expression became deadly serious.

"They'd hurt my kid," he explained.

Sam sat up, his eyes widening. This was a piece of news to him. Dean had never mentioned having a child before. That was because it was something he never shared with anyone, one of the few personal things he got to keep. He felt talking about Samuel could hex the poor kid somehow.

"Y-you have a kid?" Sam murmured, a little confused.

Dean nodded. "An arranged marriage, when I was a teen. I- I was a virgin bridegroom. My missus, Jo, she used me to get the girl baby she needed, is all. But she wound up with an unwanted boy in the bargain."

"You got TWO kids?" murmured Sam in amazement.

"Kinda," agreed Dean. "The girl was her momma's princess. Didn't need me around. The boy, he was different. They treated him like crap. So I took him and ran."

Sam was having trouble assimilating this new development.

"Y-you TOOK him? So, uh, where's the kid now?" he wondered. "Here?"

Dean sighed deeply. "In Appalachia. Took him to a men's refuge run by this old guy name of Bobby Singer. Great guy, by the way. He helped me out a lot. But my in-laws hired some people, found me there, kidnapped me, brung me to this freakin' place. The kid's still at the refuge with Bobby, I truly hope. But they know where to find him. They can go get him anytime they want, anytime I step outta line. And then... they'll hurt him. Or worse. They're not scared of the law, if you get my drift."

Sam was silent for a moment, letting that information sink in. He had never asked the guy what kept him at the manhouse. He had assumed they had gotten him hooked on something, drugs. Drugs he could have helped him with, but this... He could only shrug.

"Smith, I know I gotta get outta town, but I can't leave you here," he said. "WON'T leave you here. I- I love you."

Dean had to turn his face away to hide his reaction. No one had ever told him that before. No one except... except his Sammy. But Sam wasn't Sammy. He had almost made himself believe that. Dean gritted his teeth to stop from breaking down.

"You gotta, Sam," he insisted. "Get yourself far away, someplace safe. Forget about me. Go back where you came from, huh? Go home."

It was Sam's turn to sigh. He blew his bangs off of his face and shook his head.

"Can't go home," he said. "My brother's gone and my dad passed last year. There's nothing in Lawren for me now. Not a damn thing."

Dean couldn't help but let out a tiny gasp.

"Your dad's... dead?" he asked. No, he was NOT talking about John. And, anyway, this was not Sammy. He couldn't be.

Sam nodded sadly. "Uh-huh," he confirmed. "He got me into college. Shame he never got to see me graduate. Jeez, I guess I never will now."

Dean sat up straight and reached for his box of Kleenex, so Sam could dry his eyes and blow his nose. Sam sat there, shoulders slumped, thinking about his dad and how their dreams had stumbled so close to the wire.

For months Dean had been trying hard not to believe the worst, not to believe that this Sam could be HIS Sam, his baby brother. The guy had to be some OTHER Sam Campbell from Lawren, Kansas, right? He knew he shouldn't dig, but for some reason he had to know.

"And your mom?" he asked nervously, scared of the answer Sam might give him.

"No mom," Sam answered. "She died in a fire back when I was a baby. No, it was always just Dad and me, and my big brother Dean."

Dean inhaled sharply. So there was no doubt. It was way TOO much of a coincidence to be just a coincidence. This Sam WAS his Sam. OK, so Dean's bad luck was consistent at least. The only guy he had ever gotten mixed up with, the only human being he had ever wanted to be with, had turned out to be his own brother.

He took a deep breath. OK, so maybe it was true, but Sam didn't ever need to know it. Because he was never going to see Dean again. He was going to go someplace and be fine and forget him. It broke Dean's heart, but he knew it had to be that way.

Dean felt his resolution strengthen. He grabbed Sam and pulled him up, pushing him toward the door. But Sam turned around and pushed back, seeking eye contact. Dean stared him down coldly.

"Listen," growled the older guy. "You're leaving right now, Sam. You're gonna take your crap and jump on a train and go someplace, anyplace, where you'll be safe. And you're gonna forget about me. For good. You hear? Got enough shit in my life already. Don't need you in it too." He grasped the doorknob and yanked the door open wide. "Now go. Get the fuck out."

Sam's eyes betrayed the hurt behind them. "Smith?!" he murmured.

Dean bundled him out the room and slammed the door, leaning against it as he panted, his heart thumping. He threw his head back, bumping it against the wood carelessly. He had to hope that Sam would take the damn hint and walk away.

A single tear stole down his cheek unasked. He brushed it away with the back of his hand.

OK, so he WAS going to cry this time. But not right now.

~o~

Sam ran from the manhouse into the city night in a state of desperate bewilderment. Before he knew where he was, he had found himself outside the brightly lit City Police Department building. He stopped and considered. He was going to split town, but at least he could report the manhouse and maybe help Smith before he had to disappear. He walked inside and stomped up to the desk.

The woman desk sergeant proceeded to ignore him for quite some time. It took a moment before Sam remembered that he was dressed as a man. He had automatically become a low priority.

"Missus," he began, interrupting the officer's studied disregard of him. "Wanna report a crime."

The sergeant slowly finished writing and put down her pen.

"A crime?" she asked, raising a doubting eyebrow. "Really? YOU wanna report a crime?"

She said it like she thought a mere male wouldn't know what the heck a crime even was.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam continued hastily. "There's this 'house', a manhouse. They call it 'Plucky's House of Fun'. They're keeping this guy there against his will, threatening his family, and..."

The heavy-set, middle-aged woman chuckled. "And how would YOU know this?" she asked suspiciously. "You belong there, boy? You one of Plucky's pretties, huh?"

Sam recoiled. "Heck no, missus. I, uh, I got this friend..."

The woman gave a knowing nod. "Oh, yeah, sure," she agreed, dismissively. "You got this 'friend'."

Sam shook his head. "No, no, no," he gabbled. "His name is Smith. He was kidnapped. That's a federal offense, right?"

Suddenly he realized that he didn't know Smith's first name. Or was 'Smith' his first name?

"He- he's being held there, held a prisoner. You gotta help," he pleaded.

~o~

Ten minutes later Sam was seated at a table in a tiny interview room. The door opened and a sharp-suited female detective entered the room, a folder under her arm. She greeted Sam briefly and sat down in the chair across from him.

The short, black policewoman centred her folder in front of her and smiled up at the larger guy.

"O... kay," she began, with a weary sigh. "Let's just see here, sweetie. You wanna report some alleged 'manhouse' for 'imprisoning' a friend of yours, huh?"

Sam nodded urgently. "Yeah. The place's called 'Plucky's House of Fun'. You gotta know it. It's less than a half mile from here."

The detective leafed through her folder lazily.

"'Plucky's' you say?" she queried. "Ah, here it is." She ran a manicured finger down the printed details. "'Plucky's House of Fun and Fitness'? It's a legitimate physical training facility. All the correct permits, licences check out, taxes paid up. We got no problems with the place."

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"B-but," he stammered. "No way is Plucky's legit. They got guys there who gotta service the clientele with more than just a rubdown. You gotta know what's going on there."

The detective stared Sam squarely in the face. "Like I said. They pay their taxes."

Smith was right. Those jerks had the police in their pockets. Sam should have known the law wouldn't give a damn about a few desperate hookers.

She turned over a page. "The name was 'Smith', huh?" she murmured.

Sam immediately wished he hadn't mentioned Smith's name. He was going to get him in trouble, drawing attention to him that way.

"Yeah. OK," she continued. "Sure he's registered right here. Got him down as a 'Personal Trainer'. Looks like his contract was signed by his next-of-kin, his father, one 'John Campbell né Winchester' of Lawren, Kansas. Everything kosher, looks like. Plucky's is his legal guardian now. See. All signed and sealed."

She flashed the file under Sam's nose before slamming it shut and leaning back in her chair, her arms smugly crossed.

"Reckon you got your facts wrong, sweetie," she finished. "Nothing criminal going on there."

But Sam wasn't listening to her anymore. His mind was racing.

John Campbell? His dad's name. And how many John Winchesters were there in Lawren who had married a Missus Campbell? Plus he had recognized that signature, his dad's illiterate scrawl. But it couldn't be. It could NOT be. Smith could NOT be Dean, HIS Dean, his long-lost big brother. How could he be? Dean was in the UQ, wasn't he? How could he have ended up there, in a manhouse. Jeez, not Dean, not his brother!

But deep inside he knew it was true. It explained so much. Right from the start, Smith had seemed so empathetic, so understanding. And they were always so comfortable together, always on the same wavelength. How could they be any other way when they were family?

Hardly able to breathe, Sam staggered out of the police building onto the busy sidewalk, the police officer's cold laughter following him outside.

He needed to find a telephone.

TBC

* * *

A/N: So now they both know. But neither knows that the other knows. More soon.


	13. Hour Of Need

A/N: So the police won't help. Who's a poor guy to turn to in his hour of need?

* * *

Bought And Sold (Chapter 13: Hour Of Need) by frostygossamer

* * *

Sam's head was still reeling as he lurched back onto the street outside the police building. His mind, already struggling with his desperate situation as an outed female impersonator, now had to cope with his newfound knowledge of Smith's true identity. It was all too much.

"Oh Jeez," he gasped. "This can NOT be real."

He had never thought about why Smith had seemed so strangely in tune with him right from the first. He had assumed a whore was trained to seem that way to his clients, like the geisha men of matriarchal Japan. But he could now see why the guy's sunny smile had been so comforting, so familiar, why he had found him so easy to love. Jeez, he and the man he had fallen so hard for shared the same blood, and the love they had shared was forbidden.

Sam knew it was wrong but it was nobody's fault. He had no idea what he was going to do about it, but he didn't have time to dwell on it yet. What he did know, more than ever, was that he could NOT run away and leave his own BROTHER in that awful place. He would rather wind up behind bars.

Musing as he wandered, head down, through the city crowds, he noticed that he had stumbled into a pool of light emanating from a cheerful all-night cafe. The place boasted a payphone beside the cash desk. He was going to need to call someone soon. He just wasn't sure who.

He decided to go on inside, get himself a coffee and think a while about his next move. Luckily, he still had his purse with him. He was able to pay for his latte, but he didn't have much cash in it. The little piggy-bank in which he had put his earnings from tutoring, his only savings, was still in his dorm room back at college. He really could use it.

He drank his coffee slowly and considered. After weighing up the pros and cons, he went to the cafe's phone and dialled his residence's number followed by Jessica's extension.

~o~

It was after midnight when the telephone in Jessica's room started to ring. She tumbled out of bed cursing, and fumbled for the receiver.

"Hello? Who is it?" she demanded groggily, still half asleep. "Whaddya want?"

Sam hesitated for a second. Did he really trust Jessica enough?

"Jess," he began. "It's Samantha. Need you to do something for me."

Jessica put her hand on her hip huffily, as she stood there in her Hello Kitty nightdress.

"Do you know what time this is, girl?" she asked, in mock irritation. "You remember this is a school night, right?"

"Just want you to throw a couple things in a bag for me. OK? And bring it to me, please. I can't come get it myself right now."

That puzzled his friend. "Why not?" she wondered. "Samantha, is it something to do with what Ruby was hinting at earlier?"

The mention of Ruby's name alarmed Sam a little.

"Ruby?" he repeated. "What's Ruby been saying about me, Jess?"

"Oh, not much," Jessica explained. "It's just, down in the laundry room tonight, she was grinning like a Cheshire cat, saying there would be some scandal around campus tomorrow and it was all down to you. What was that about?"

Sam sighed. "You'll find out soon enough," he said. "Can you please go empty my savings pig, Jess? And get my law books. Put them in a backpack and bring them down to..." He peered out the window and told her the name on the building across the street from the cafe.

"Sure thing," Jessica agreed. "And I guess, if you're not coming back tonight, I should pack you some clothes too? Nightgown? Underwear?"

"No," replied Sam. "Don't bother, Jess. Not going to need them, just the money and the books."

What use would women's clothing be to him now?

He hung up the phone and sat down to wait, anxiously surveying the street outside.

~o~

Jessica stepped out of the taxi onto the sidewalk directly out front of the building Samantha had named. She looked around. No Samantha. She was wondering if coming down to Main Street alone at that hour had been such a great idea, when she heard a whistle and looked up.

Across the street, in the doorway of an all-night coffee shop, a tall young man was waving her over. Ordinarily she wouldn't have acknowledged a strange guy like that, but right then the well-lit coffee shop looked like a safer place to be than where she was standing. She crossed the street.

The strange guy ushered her through the coffee shop's door and indicated a booth. She sat down, stowing her luggage under the table, and peered out the window, waiting for Samantha to show up. The guy sat down at her table without asking permission.

"I'm waiting for my friend," Jessica explained tetchily. "Not looking for male company."

"Jess, it's me," hissed the stranger.

Jessica turned and looked at the guy properly for the first time. Sam watched her expression change from perplexity to astonishment.

"Yeah, Jess, it's me Samantha. Sam actually. And THIS," he indicated his body, "is what Ruby's scandal is all about."

Jessica studied him closely, her shocked mouth hanging open.

"Y-you're a secret drag king?" she asked in amazement. "Samantha, honey, you could have told me. It's not THAT deviant, dressing up as a boy. I used to be a bit of a tomboy too, back when I was five."

She naturally assumed what she was looking at was a masculine woman disguised in men's attire. Truthfully, she had always suspected her friend wasn't as feminine as a normal woman ought to be.

Sam shook his head. "No, Jess. I'm a guy. A real guy. I was only pretending to be a woman. Been faking it all along. I'm sorry."

Jessica's brow creased into a frown. "I don't understand," she said. "How can you be male? You were my friend, Samantha."

"It's Sam," Sam corrected her. "I AM your friend, Jess. Always been this way and always been your friend."

Jessica leaned back in her seat and tsked at him.

"Oh yes, sure. My friend, my best friend and confidante. Except with one hell of an eye-opener hidden between HIS legs. Sweetie, you are going to be in SO much trouble."

Sam almost laughed. He was in one TRUCKLOAD of trouble.

"Don't I know it," he agreed. "Ruby's sent a letter to the Dean denouncing me. Gotta split before I get my ass arrested. That's why I need my stuff. Did you bring it all?"

Jessica rolled her eyes. "Of course I did," she chided him. "A small roll of bills and all the text books I could fit in the bag." She kicked the bag that was at her feet towards Sam. "Much good they'll do you."

Sam picked up the bag and looked inside. Jessica leaned forward again, her face assuming a concerned expression.

"You know it's not too late to turn yourself in," she said, laying her hand on his shoulder and then quickly removing it. "You can get help. There are treatments for your problem. I know you're not a bad... person. I'm sure you wouldn't have done this if you could have helped yourself. It's a sickness."

Sam turned back to her and glared in her face.

"Really don't get it do you?" he asked in exasperation. "I'm not any kind of crazy. It was the ONLY way I could get into school. That's all."

Jessica was stunned. She had been trying to feel some sympathy for an old friend with a mental condition, but if his agenda was political that was a different matter.

"Of course you're crazy," she insisted. "Boys don't belong in school. They don't have the brains for study. Everybody knows that."

Sam could only gape. "I'm a straight-A student," he reminded her. "There's nothing wrong with my brain."

"Well, YOU're a freak, I guess," she concluded. "I mean a- a savant or whatever."

Sam dropped his head into his hands and sighed. He had had enough of being called a freak just because he wanted to learn.  
"You might as well go now, Jess," he muttered. "Not gonna argue with you anymore. You're never gonna see me again anyways."

Jessica got up from the booth and headed toward the cafe door. In the doorway she hesitated and looked back.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I really am sorry, Sa- Sam."

~o~

Jessica stepped out of the cafe and looked around. On the other side of the street stood an unmarked police vehicle. She quickly crossed the roadway and tapped on the driver's window. The policewoman inside rolled the window down.

"That the suspect?" she asked, jerking her head toward the cafe.

"Oh, uh, yes. That's definitely her, uh, him," Jessica answered.

"Good." The officer got out of the car and opened the back door, pushing the young woman inside. "You just sit tight right here while I go make the arrest, ma'am," she told her.

Jessica sat in the backseat and waited for Sam to be led out of the coffee shop in handcuffs. All the while she tried to tell herself she had done the right thing, alerting the cops.

Not knowing precisely what Samantha had been guilty of, she had hoped to stop her friend doing something she would regret. But knowing the shocking truth, she could only conclude that Sam couldn't be allowed to get away with it. That would be the beginning of a slide into anarchy. Or so she had been brought up to believe.

After a few minutes the police officer returned to the vehicle, without Sam.

"Seems to have given us the slip. This time," she explained. "Made a run for it out the back door and down the alley. Now he's in the wind."

Despite herself, Jessica couldn't help feeling a little relieved.

She murmured under her breath, "Good luck, Sam. You're going to need it."

~o~

From inside the cafe, Sam watched his erstwhile best friend leave the warmth of the building and cross the street to stop by a black car.

That was exactly what he had feared would happen when he decided to contact Jessica. Even though Jess had been a good friend, he didn't expect her to be OK with breaking the law. She was hardly going to remain loyal, once she discovered what exactly he had been hiding from her.

Jessica was a woman, after all.

Grabbing the backpack, he bolted out the cafe's back exit - he had checked that out before she arrived - and headed down the back alley as fast as his long legs would carry him.

As he prowled the city streets, Sam realized it would be dawn soon and he was running out of options. He had money, which meant he could go buy a train ticket to someplace, but he hadn't the first idea where. And Dean. What about Dean? He couldn't leave town and just abandon him there. He was all the family Sam had left; he so did not deserve to be left in that manhouse; and Sam loved him.

Even if loving Dean was wrong, it was already too late for Sam to stop.

He so wished his dad was still alive. He could really use his support and help. Surely there had to be someone who he could turn to for advice? Then he thought of that male activist guy Dean had told him was taking care of his kid. It was Bobby, Bobby Singer, right? Maybe HE could help?

It was worth a dime to find out.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Will Bobby be able to suggest a solution. Doesn't he always? More soon.


	14. We Shall Not Be Moved

A/N: Sam has had the great idea of phoning Bobby for advice. Will Bobby help?

* * *

Bought And Sold (Chapter 14: We Shall Not Be Moved) by frostygossamer

* * *

Sam found a phone booth and dialled the operator. She eventually was able to locate for him the number of a Robert Singer who ran a men's shelter in Appalachia. Crammed into the small booth, he nervously called the number. He fought to calm down his breathing, as the call rang through.

"Hello," came a gruff voice from the other end of the line. "Singer speaking. What's your problem?"

"Bobby?" repeated Sam. "You the Bobby Singer who was a good friend to Dean Campbell?"

On hearing Dean's name Bobby was immediately suspicious.

"Hmm," grunted the voice. "Could be. Depends what your business is with him. Who'm I talking to, huh?"

Sam took a deep breath and started in with his explanation.

"My name is Sam and I'm-" he began.

"Samuel?" Bobby cut in, remembering Dean had told him he had a brother named Samuel. He had named his child after him. "You're Dean's cousin, right?"

"No, Bobby," Sam corrected the older guy, rightly suspecting it was a trick question. "I'm his brother. His younger brother." He paused for a second. "Bobby, I found him. Found him in a freakin' manhouse. And I need your help to get him out."

"Oh God," Bobby responded. "The poor kid."

Bobby was shocked by that news, but not as surprised as the average citizen not in his line of work would be.

"Yeah," agreed Sam. "They're holding him against his will, obviously. I been to the police and they all but laughed in my face. They're taking a kickback, I know it. I'm all alone here and I don't know what to do. You gotta help me, Bobby. You gotta help me get Dean outta there."

There was a long silence on the line. Sam was almost thinking he had been cut off before the older man spoke again, slowly and deliberately.

"Sam," he said. "For the longest time I been thinking that your brother was maybe dead. I been cursing myself for ever letting him walk outta the refuge with that lousy dame, Bela, damn her eyes. But never once did it occur to me that the poor kid could have wound up the way you say. I gotta blame myself and, son, I'm gonna make it right. Where you at now?"

Sam was wiping his eyes and nose on his sleeve, relief in finding someone to share his anguish with causing the tears to finally flow.

"Uh, I'm in a phone booth in the middle of town," he croaked.

"OK then. You stay safe," Bobby carried on, briskly. "I'm gonna call 'round and muster all the masculinist sympathizers I can reach. We're gonna have us a little demonstration. We're gonna march on that goddamn manhouse."

Sam's face broke into a wide grin. "Awesome," he chuckled, through his tears. "We're gonna wind up in the papers, Bobby."

The older guy snickered. "THAT," he said, "is the idea, son."

~o~

Bobby put down his phone and blew a little whistle as he took off his cap and slammed it on his desk. This was great news. Well, not exactly GREAT news, considering Dean's circumstances, but considerably better news than the alternative. At least Dean was alive someplace and there was a chance they could get him to a place of safety sometime soon. But he had to act fast. Time was a-wasting.

He grabbed his contact list from its nail on the wall and started to run through it for friends and sympathizers within easy reach of Sam. He would need to round up all the support he could get. He picked up his phone and dialled the first number of many.

A couple minutes later, Adam, who had been collecting dirty dishes, popped his head in Bobby's office.

"Something going down I should know about?" he asked in a whisper.

Bobby put his hand over the receiver.

"Dean's been found. Thank the BIG GAL upstairs," he hissed. "Just got me a call from his brother."

Adam almost dropped his burden of dishware.

"No," he gasped. "Where is Dean? He OK? You tell the brother about Samuel?"

Bobby shook his head. "Nuh-uh. They got the guy locked up in some freakin' casa de putos. I'm organizing something. Plenty time for family updates later."

"Organizing what?"

Bobby grinned gleefully. "I'm summoning a goddamn flash mob!"

~o~

Sam kept moving until the morning streets started to get a little busier, then he made his way back to the manhouse's alleyway. When he got there there was a sizeable crowd outside 'Plucky's House of Fun, Fitness and Fornication'.

When Sam appeared, he was greeted by a round of spontaneous applause, as was every subsequent supporter who rallied to the cause. Sam was impressed and, at the same time, slightly intimidated by the level of response to Bobby's call. Much to Sam's surprise, several people had even hastily improvised placards, daubed with slogans like "DOWN WITH FEMALE CHAUVINISM!", "EQUALITY FOR MEN!" and "STOP FEMALE OPPRESSION NOW!"

The primarily male crowd, together with a handful of female masculinist supporters, were excited and ready to go, waiting only for Sam to give them the word.

"Thanks a lot for coming," he told a guy who seemed to be organizing things. "I'm Sam."

The guy grinned. "These filthy places need shutting down," he replied. "Only too glad to help, man."

Sam marched up to the locked front door of the manhouse and hammered on it.

"Open up!" he yelled. "You may as well bring the guys out front. We're gonna close this goddamn place down today."

There was a muffled cry from within. Sam recognized the voice of the mister who ran the place for the owner Plucky Pennywhistle.

"Like hell you will," the guy shouted. "You really think it's gonna be that easy? We got friends. Friends in high places."

"I'm sure you do," agreed Sam. "But there's a lot of us and we're not afraid to make a stink. The press is on its way."

Mention of the media seemed to unnerve the guy inside.

"Press ain't gonna get no story today" he yelled, but his voice sounded much less assured.

Sam turned to the guy next to him and quietly asked, "Anyone actually called the press yet?"

The guy nodded.

~o~

Sex-worker Vic had been the first one to notice the mob of protesters arrive. His room overlooked the narrow street. He popped his head into the hallway and stopped Jay as he wandered back from the shower.

"Hey, anyone know what's going down outside?" he asked him.

Jay shook his head. "Beats me," he replied, "but my last trick sure booked it fast."

Dean came out of his room, wondering where his next jane had gotten herself to.

"What's with everyone?" he demanded. "And what in hell is that freakin' noise all about?"

They crowded into Vic's room, to look out the window, and were amazed to see an angry crowd stomping around outside.

"Looks like some kinda lynch mob," joked Jay. "Maybe it's the 'Christians Against Prostitution League' come to run us outta town ...again."

"But they're pretty much all guys," Dean pointed out, somewhat puzzled. "And look there. Is that a TV truck pulling into the alley?"

Dean was wondering if he could use this unexpected diversion to his advantage somehow, when the mister and a couple of his strong-arms grabbed him and his co-workers and started to shove them around. They were forced protesting back to their rooms, where the window shutters were closed up and they were locked in. Dean put up more of a fight than the others.

"Hey! Hey, hands off of the goods," he griped. "You ugly sack of-"

He received a punch on the jaw for his insolence and was knocked flat on his back. His world went black.

Dean was out cold.

~o~

Downstairs Missus Pennywhistle and her mister were occupied guiding their alarmed clientele out the building through a secret back door behind Pennywhistle's office.

"I really can NOT be seen here," bleated one customer. "Can't afford to get my face in the news."

"I know, Judge," Plucky assured her. "No chance of that. This way leads out through the back of a Chinese butcher's. Very discreet."

"There better be no mention of my name in the papers tomorrow, or I'll make sure you regret it," threatened another, a congresswoman.

"No, ma'am," agreed Missus P. "There'll be no trouble. I'll make sure of that."

After seeing the justice, the politician and the last of her customers off of the premises, Plucky watched the TV crew set up outside with growing dread.

"I want all this crap destroyed," she told her mister, waving a hand at her file cabinets. "All of these records have gotta go. I want nothing left for the cops when they get here."

They set about emptying the cabinets, piling their contents in the middle of the floor. Then Missus P. emptied a can of lighter fluid over the heap and put a match to it. Within a couple minutes, she and her staff had followed their clients' secret escape route.

But the fire continued to smoulder.

~o~

Cassie Robinson stepped down from the TV truck and smoothed her expensive suit. The vociferous crowd were now shuffling around in circles, chanting slogans and waving their placards.

"Gimme the microphone, honey," she told her assistant.

The assistant handed her the mic and Cassie found herself a place with a good shot of the crowd behind, for her camerawoman.

"This is Cassie Robinson reporting from down town... where a 'flash mob' has shown up outside THIS back-street address."

She turned to let the camera get a clear view of Missus Pennywhistle's establishment.

"'Plucky's House of Fun and Fitness'. But exactly what type of 'fun' goes on behind those closed doors?"

She made the 'cut' gesture and dropped her mic for a second.

"Lemme find someone who knows what's going on around here."

She collared a random guy from the crowd.

"Can you tell me anything about what's happening here?" she asked him.

"You wanna speak to Sam," he answered, pointing out the tall guy over the heads of nearby protesters.

Cassie pushed her way toward him.

"Hi," she began. "I understand you can tell me what's going on here," and she pushed her microphone under Sam's nose.

Taken by surprise Sam was speechless for a second before recovering himself. He was a little nervous about appearing on TV, even anonymously, but he knew they could use all the publicity they could get.

"What we have here is an impromptu gathering to protest against City Hall allowing an establishment like this one to blatantly flout the law," he explained. "They're running a- a bordello within the city limits and right under the noses of the local police. If that doesn't smell like corruption I don't know what does."

Cassie perked up. "What makes you believe that the business we're standing in front of is breaking the law? I've checked up on it and it's legally registered as a simple fitness facility."

"That's just it," agreed Sam. "It's been legally registered as a bona fide gym, when you only need to step through the doors to realize that it's nothing more than a damn whorehouse."

Cassie belatedly snatched away the mic.

"Sorry," Sam apologized for his language. "But I'm- We're all angry about this."

"It's OK," said Cassie, smiling. "We can bleep that out later."

"The reason we're here today," Sam went on, "is there are guys in there being held prisoner, held against their will and forced to work as hookers. It's medieval."

"You're talking False Imprisonment and Duress," Cassie suggested, getting more interested.

"Yeah, sure," Sam agreed. "It's gotta stop and stop right now. That's what this protest is about. Hang it, this is the 21st Century. It's time things changed."

"Well, I-" Cassie began, but she was cut off by a shout.

Hearing a yelp from behind, Sam looked over his shoulder and spotted one of the militant crowd pointing up at a second floor window.

"FIRE!" the guy yelled. "They've torched the freakin' place."

Sam's eyes widened. "No!" he gasped. "Dean's still in there. Someone call the Fire Department! NOW!"

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh no! Looks like the fire got out of hand. And Dean is unconscious! More soon.


	15. We Gotta Get Out Of This Place

A/N: Dean has been knocked unconscious. Now things are going to get hairy.

* * *

Bought And Sold (Chapter 15: We Gotta Get Out Of This Place) by frostygossamer

* * *

When Dean eventually came to, at first all he was aware of was the ache in his chin and the loud rush of blood in his ears. Gradually he realized he was laying on the floor and the noise was actually coming from outside the room. He opened his eyes and sat up, looking around. He was in the garret, a place used for punishment whenever the guys broke Plucky's rules or dared to get sassy. He was familiar with that attic. He had spent a lot of time in there after Meg first brought him to the manhouse.

Still rubbing his jaw as he stood up, Dean tried the door ineffectively. He knew fine well that there was only one way out of the garret, and that was locked and double-barred as usual. He put his face to the grill in the door and hollered.

"Hey! Wanna let me outta here? You want me to apologize you gotta bring me to the missus, right?"

There was no reply. He guessed maybe the mister had forgotten about him for now, what with the protest and all.

The only daylight illuminating the attic room came from a small window set high in the wall. Dean dragged a wooden storage box over to the wall, and climbed up on it so he could see outside. Craning his head at an awkward angle, he could barely see the edge of the crowd down in the alley that were making that godawful din. After a moment he spotted Sam apparently chatting to a good looking dark-skinned woman, beside the TV truck he had noticed earlier.

"Sam," he groused to himself. "Thought I told you to get your butt out of town. Baby, you're gonna get your sweet ass nailed."

Then he smelled it. Smoke. Glancing toward the doorway, Dean could see the first faint curling fumes drifting in under the door. He jumped down from the box and peeked out the grill.

"Hey!" he shouted.

He could see that the hall beyond was already foggy. The dry reek caught in his throat and he started to cough hoarsely.

"Hey, yo-yos!" he shouted even louder. "I'm locked in here and the freakin' house is on fire!"

His yelling was useless. No one was there. He went back to the skylight and tried calling again.

"Sam! I'm up here! Sam!" but neither Sam nor anyone else could hear him above the hubbub in the street.

He was trapped. He was going to burn to death or die of smoke inhalation and no one would save him. No one even knew he was up there, no one he could trust to tell anyone. He climbed off of the wooden box and sat down on it, dejected. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he felt his amulet slide out of his shirt and hang down. He grabbed it and smiled to himself.

"Well, Sammy," he said to it. "Guess this is the end for me. Only pray you're gonna be safe."

~o~

By the time the fire truck arrived, the blaze was well under way. Smoke and flames were billowing out of every window on every floor of the sub-fire-code building. Firewomen bravely ran into the roaring blaze and succeeded in rescuing most of the prostituted guys. Jay was found crawling on the floor with a wet washcloth over his face. Vic managed to climb out his window with help from the fire crew.

Neither Missus Pennywhistle nor any of her criminal accessories were found in the building, all having long ago safely made their escape. All the paperwork and files in her office had been reduced to nothing but ashes.

Sam ran frantically from one group of working-boys to another, searching for Dean.

"Did you see him? See Smith anyplace?" he demanded. "Did he get out? Is he safe? Where is he? Oh Jeez."

The last time he had been seen was by Jay and Vic when he was punched out and manhandled from Vic's room. No one had seen Dean outside the house. No one could remember rescuing anyone fitting his description.

"Oh God no!" Sam gasped, as realization hit him. "He's still trapped in the freakin' building!"

He grabbed a scarf from someone and, wrapping it around his nose and mouth, recklessly tried to run inside the house to search for Dean himself. He fought his way to the room he had visited Dean in. He found a firewoman with an axe had already broken in the door. And Dean wasn't in there. Where was he?

Sam all but collapsed in the doorway but he was quickly grabbed by a couple burly women fire-fighters. He got dragged protesting back outside, where he stood choking on the sidewalk.

"You don't wanna be in there, hun," one of them scolded him, in a firm but gentle voice. "The place's fulla toxic smoke. You wouldn't've gotten farther than a couple more feet without breathing apparatus."

Sam could only stand outside and sob. After everything, after being separated from his brother and then finding him again all these years later, was it going to end this way? He stepped back a few feet so he could properly see the full building, and studied each and every window for any sign of life.

"DEAN!" he shouted hopelessly. There was no response.

He couldn't help but think Dean must be dead already. And in the heat of the inferno, there would be nothing left of him but ash indistinguishable from the dirt. Sam's downcast gaze settled on the ash-strewn walkway he was standing on.

His brother was gone.

~o~

Dean sat slumped on his wooden storage box in the attic. He could hardly find any air to breathe, even up there in the garret, and flames were licking around the door. He had accepted that he couldn't be saved and was reconciled to his fate. Then a familiar sound roused him from his stupor. His name.

Someone was calling his name, his REAL name. Sam's cry came drifting up to him from below. Dean couldn't guess how his brother had found out the truth, but it pleased him that the secret was out and the deception was over. He only wished he could have spoken with Sam to explain why he had deceived him, beg Sam to forgive him for being such a wuss.

He was suddenly seized by an overwhelming need to see his beloved brother one last time. He climbed up on the box one final time with some difficulty and peered out the tiny window. His sight was clouded by tears caused by the smoke, so he could barely make out the distant figure of Sam.

Dean smiled to himself, touching the amulet his little brother Sammy had given him so long ago. He remembered how he had meant to give it back to Sam the moment they met again, back when he had believed he was going home. Now he was going home to be with his dad for good.

He pulled the cord off over his head and hefted the little brass token in his hand. Maybe he could leave it for Sam after all. He shoved open the tiny, inadequate skylight and stuck his hand through it, letting the amulet drop to the earth.

Then, overcome by fumes, he passed out in a heap on the garret floor.

~o~

Something hit the ground at Sam's feet with a small "clunk". Squatting down, he picked up the tiny item that had dropped on the dirt from somewhere high above. It was a small yellow-metal token on a length of black cord.

Sam knew it at once. It was an amulet, THE amulet. The gift he himself had given his brother the day he left home. The token his brother had sworn to always keep. Dean's amulet. The one thing Dean knew only his brother would realize came from him.

If it was from Dean then Dean knew. He knew who Sam was. But why had he said nothing?

Sam's eyes traced a straight line directly up the building. He tried desperately to make out where the small object could have fallen from. Then he spotted a glimmer of sunlight right at the top of the building. A small pane of glass? An attic window maybe?

"There!" he yelped, grabbing a passing firewoman by the shoulders and shaking her urgently. "Up there. At the very top. There's someone alive up there. ALIVE!"

Even though none of the fire crew could actually see any sign of life, they acted on Sam's 'sighting'. They mobilized the turntable, raising a long telescopic ladder up the outside of the building to the level of the garret. A large firewoman scaled up, stove in the skylight with her fire axe and disappeared inside.

Sam watched enthralled until she reemerged with an inert body draped over her shoulder and carefully descended. Was it Dean? Was he alive? Or had he succumbed to the infernal heat and toxic smoke filling the building?

Sam could only hold his breath and wait.

He rushed to where an ambulance had parked up to tend to the evacuees. But before he could get near enough to see what was going on with the guy they had placed in the back of the vehicle, he was grabbed by strong hands and held back.

"Let the EMTs do their job, Sam," a gruff voice told him. "They got their hands full."

Sam took a shaky breath. Of course. That was right. Dean, or whoever that turned out to be, was in safe hands now. Sam should butt out of it and give them space to work on him. It wouldn't help anyone if he got in the way.

However much Sam longed to take Dean and hold him and tell him how much he loved him, it could wait.

~o~

Sam avoided the eye of TV correspondent Cassie, who was now moving amongst the survivors trying to make a 'piece' out of their stories and recording sound bites from the remaining protesters. He sensed that few of the now ex-hookers would be very keen to speak on TV about their former 'professional' activities, as yet. Although Sam expected there could be one or two kiss-and-tell stories in the press over the coming weeks.

Leaving the chaotic alley behind for a few minutes, Sam found a small sandwich shop around the corner, where he borrowed a phone for a quick call. He needed to hear Bobby's voice.

The gruff man-matron picked up the call on the first ring.

"Bobby," Sam began, his voice heavy with despondence and exhaustion.

"Son," Bobby responded. "How are things your end? Any news about Dean?"

Sam sighed deeply. "Bobby, I've just come from there. The assholes started a goddamn fire. The place is a burned-out shell. I don't know... They found someone. I reckon it's Dean... but I don't know if he's alive or..."

If Sam hadn't been so bone-tired he would have burst out weeping right there, but as it was he just felt used up and wrung out. Bobby absorbed the not so good news without catching a breath.

"B-but you haven't seen- You don't KNOW that he's gone. Do you, son?" asked Bobby hopefully.

"No," agreed Sam. "I'm gonna go back and talk to the EMTs. I wanted to tell you..."

"OK, Sam," Bobby said. "I understand. Go see what the score is and if... You know... You get back to me right away. Meanwhile I'll be organizing someplace safe for you. Preferably BOTH of you."

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam told him. "I owe you," and he put down the phone.

He ordered a coffee and a pastrami sandwich to go. He took a bite of the sandwich but he could barely swallow, so he wrapped it up and put it in the pocket of his backpack.

Then he jogged back to the alley to find out if he still had a brother.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Good place to stop for now. Last chapter following soon.


	16. Life's A Struggle But You Can Win

A/N: So is Dean no more? Final chapter and epilogue.

* * *

Bought And Sold (Chapter 16: Life's A Struggle But You Can Win) by frostygossamer

* * *

When Sam got back to the alley the fire crew were winding down, making safe the ruined building and stowing their equipment back on the fire truck. They barely acknowledged him as he threaded his way between the wet mess of uncoiled hoses and knots of murmuring people.

He steeled his nerves as he approached the pair of ambulances that were handling the survivors and casualties. A gurney stood between the vehicles. On it lay a still form completely covered by a thin ambulance blanket, one pale white hand hanging out. Sam drew close with apprehension in his heart, and brushed his hand against the inert fingers. They were stone cold.

He inhaled sharply. "Dean..." he whispered.

It was just as he had feared. He braced himself to lift the scant covering, scared to lay his eyes on Dean's cold, dead face. A face he had last seen wearing an expression of vexation, as Dean told him to get out.

"Poor guy." A husky voice spoke behind him. "Only about my age. A little simple, I guess, but a real nice dude."

"Simple?" thought Sam, angry that someone dared badmouth his dead brother that way.

He wheeled around to find a guy standing right next to him with a silver thermal sheet draped over his head and shoulders. The guy shifted the foil to reveal an impish grin.

"Dean?!" Sam yelped, clutching the guy and enveloping him in a huge bear hug. Dean gasped at the sudden assault on his lungs.

"Hey, kiddo," he hissed. "Been close to suffocated by noxious damn smoke. Lemme get a little oxygen here, why don't ya."

Sam released him but kept his big hands on Dean's shoulders.

"Jeez, Dean," he said, beaming. "Thought that stiff was you. Reckoned you were-"

"-Dead? Hell no. Came around ass upward and halfway down that freakin' ladder. Not a fun experience by the way. Oh great, you got coffee."

Dean grabbed Sam's takeout to-go cup, which Sam had managed to only half spill in his joy, and took a deep swig.

"Ew!" he gasped. "You put girly-ass cream in it. But it's good and hot which is awesome."

They sat down on the back step of an ambulance while Dean finished his java and Sam stared at him in wonder.

He wanted to kiss him so badly.

~o~

Dean was covered in soot and the smoke in his lungs made him cough every once and again. When Sam passed him his almost untouched pastrami on white bread he gave him a smudgy smile. It made Sam long to brush the dirt off of his face with his finger tips, but halfway there the younger guy hesitated, letting his hand drop in his lap.

"I know," Sam said. "Who you are, I mean."

There was no point in pretending. Sam realized Dean wouldn't have tossed him his amulet except that he knew him for his brother. He didn't know if Dean had guessed it from the start, but he couldn't let Dean feel sorry for keeping it to himself. The guy deserved to be cut a bunch of slack.

Dean met his eyes questioningly for a moment, before looking away ashamed.

"Got it soon as you gave me your real name and home town, Sam. Couldn't tell ya," he murmured. "Scared you'd be totally freaked. Couldn't have you walk out on me. You were my lifeline back there. I was dying every day in that damn place."

Sam nodded and took his brother's hand in his larger one, pressing the amulet into his palm and giving his hand a little squeeze.

"It's OK," he said. "I get it. Guess, I woulda done the same thing."

"Yeah?" asked Dean, uncertainly.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed.

Dean smiled weakly. "Never forgot you," he said. "All those years. So sorry you had to figure I did."

Sam grinned. "Me neither," he responded. "Shoulda known better than to ever believe you would. You were the best big brother, Dean. Everything you been through, all so I could go to freakin' school."

"It was worth it," Dean insisted. "Seriously."

Sam shrugged. "Not if I don't graduate," he commented. "School's over for me now."

Dean shook his head. "Oh, I doubt that, Sam," he said. "You never gave up on your dreams before. You'll find a way. If anyone can."

Sam laughed. "Guess there's always good old correspondence school, huh?"

"There," Dean chuckled. "That's what I mean right there. Already with a plan."

The first step of the plan was to get out of Dodge, before anyone came looking. The fire had, as Plucky and her people intended, destroyed all records belonging to the manhouse. No one knew exactly how many working-boys had been incarcerated there. They weren't going to miss one.

"Reckon we oughta make a move before the cops start taking names," suggested Sam, getting up and offering a hand to his brother.

"Told the sows already THIS guy was 'Smith'," Dean told him, indicating the DB on the gurney.

"Smart move," commented Sam. It wouldn't hurt to leave any loose ends tied up.

"What now?" asked Dean, as he followed Sam away from the commotion surrounding the ambulances and fire truck.

"No one in Lawren anymore," mused Sam. "Whaddya say we go pick up your boy?"

"Sure!" agreed Dean, with enthusiasm. "Been way too long."

"OK. Then that's what we'll do," Sam agreed. "What's the little guy called, by the way?"

Dean grinned proudly. "Samuel. What else?"

~o~

After Dean called Bobby Singer to tell him he was still around to bug him, Dean and Sam took the first freight train back to Appalachia to meet up with the old guy and thank him for all his help.

"Why buy a ticket?" Dean had said. "Hopped one of these babies more than once. Gonna need the little cash you got left."

As they stood on the doorstep of the men's refuge, Dean couldn't help but flash back to the first time he had been there, the day he fetched up with his baby son in a laundry basket.

"Go on. Knock, why don't ya?" Sam encouraged him, as he stood here hesitating.

"I, uh, I dunno. Got this weird feeling of deja vu," Dean explained.

Sam took the initiative and gave the door a resolute rap. After a few seconds, they heard the sound of several bolts being drawn back inside and the door opened a crack. Sam was the first one Bobby saw. He narrowed his eyes at the unfamiliar face.

"What ya wantin', son?" he asked, suspicious as always.

Sam grinned. "It's me, Bobby. Sam Campbell. Brung someone to see you... Dean."

Bobby's eyebrows shot up in delight, and he flung the door wide to take in both brothers.

"Dean!" he cried, grabbing the shorter brother and enveloping him in a warm, avuncular hug.

"Boy, I been thinkin' you were maybe, well, dead. You sure are a sight for these sore eyes. Warms my old heart to see ya, son."

After several minutes he finally let go of Dean and, grabbing Sam's hand, gave it a painfully hearty shake.

"Both of you. So glad to see both of you, alive and well. Come on inside. Come on. I got hot coffee and some of my famous chili on the stove-top waitin' for ya."

They followed him inside and into the crowded kitchen, which was bustling with busy. A younger man, who had been sitting with a group of children, came right on over and grabbed Dean's hand, wringing it fiercely.

"Adam?!" gasped Dean. "You still goldbricking it around here?"

"Uh-huh," responded the younger man. "Still here. Now I'm helping Bobby run the place. I'm in charge of the kiddies' education. Been teaching 'em to read. All of 'em. Girls AND boys."

"Wanna watch that. Dunno where it might lead," joked Dean, winking at Sam. "You were always so good with the kids, Adam. My Samuel adored you."

His eyes were scoping the room, searching hopefully for his little boy's face. Adam noticed him looking.

"Samuel's not here," he explained. "After you disappeared, Bobby knew something was wrong. He was so worried he sent the scamp to some country cousins of his. Don't worry. He's safe. You can see him soon as you want."

Sam could tell from Dean's relieved expression that he did want, and soon.

They all sat down at a wood bench, and Bobby brought over coffee and bowls of chili for the newcomers.

"Like yours black, huh Dean?" smiled the man-matron, handing Dean a cup. "I recall you always took it that way."

He fetched himself a mugful and sat down opposite the two brothers, pulling a flask from his pocket and waving it under their noses. They both nodded enthusiastically and Bobby dosed their drinks.

"Wired my folks already," Bobby told them. "Cousin Karen'll be bringing the boy into town in a couple days. The youngster got real excited when she told him his daddy was back. Couldn't wait to see ya."

Dean laughed nervously. "Kinda thought he woulda forgotten all about me, Bobby. Been so long, and he was only an ankle-biter back then."

Bobby gave him a kindly smile. "He wasn't gonna forget YOU, son. You were the first one ever showed him any love. No way was he gonna forget that."

"Same here," agreed Sam.

He was sure no one who had gotten to know his big brother was ever going to forget him. The guy was one in a million.

~o~

They settled in to spend the next couple days at the refuge, waiting for Karen and Samuel to show up. Bobby shuffled his residents around but only managed to find them both one bed to share. The place was always so full up with deserving cases.

After spending the first evening bringing Bobby up to speed on their adventures, in a G-rated version, it was finally time for everyone to get some shut eye. Dean and Sam's bed was in the corner of a communal room, only a thin curtain affording the visitors some privacy.

They got in bed and lay quiet for a while, listening to the movements in the house slowly settle down and grow still. After a few minutes of silence, Sam leaned up on one elbow and looked down at Dean, who had his eyes closed and was unconvincingly pretending to sleep.

"Guess maybe we oughta make like it never happened," he whispered.

Sam felt they really needed to address what had occurred between them back at Plucky's before it became an issue. Dean opened his eyes and shuffled to sit up a little.

"It happened, Sam," he said quietly. "No reason to act like it didn't. Unless it's something you can't get past?" He looked into Sam's eyes searchingly. "Can you get past it?"

Sam had to look away for a second. "I'm not sure I wanna get past it. But I need to, I guess," he mumbled.

Dean hesitated a moment, thinking it through. He loved Sam, brother or not. Nothing there had changed. The last thing either of them needed, after everything, was to have their feelings push them apart. If their history was going to be a problem between them, he had to deal with it right away.

Talking about his emotions did not come easy to Dean, but he was the eldest, so it was HIS job. He fixed his eyes on a crack in the ceiling above them and started to speak.

"Sam," he began, calmly. "If you want it, things between us can be like they used to, back in Lawren. We can set Plucky's to one side and be brothers. You can be my kid brother Sammy again, if that's what you need."

He turned his head and looked Sam in the face. "I CAN live with that if you can. Or..."

"Or...?" asked Sam, his eyebrows scrunched together miserably, afraid Dean might be going to suggest they split up. "Or what?"

"Or we can let go everything before that first night we met at Plucky's. When we were just two strangers destined to love each other."

He reached up and tousled the big guy's mop of hair affectionately. Sam leaned into his gentle touch, his eyes closing for an instant. That was all Dean needed to know.

"The way I see it, got my own little Sammy now. You don't need to be that for me again. We can be something else, if you wanna."

"Like... like together?" Sam ventured, hopefully.

He knew what Dean was hinting at was sinful, but he couldn't help wanting it anyways. Giving up the love he felt for his 'Smith' would be like losing his dad again. It would be too painful to bear.

Dean gave him a gentle smile. "Uh-huh," he agreed.

Sam leaned forward and grazed his lips against Dean's.

"Reckon that's what I want, Dean," he murmured.

Dean returned his kiss with the utmost tenderness.

"Me too, Sam," he breathed.

~o~

They met Bobby's country cousin at the local train station two days later. Little Samuel, grown into a naughty little scamp, knew his daddy the moment he spotted him waiting anxiously on the platform.

He pointed out the carriage window shouting, "Look! Look, Aunt Karen! There he is, right there!"

The moment they stepped down from the train, he pulled away from his foster mother and ran to Dean, arms outstretched.

"Daddy! Daddy!" he laughed. "Knew you'd come back. I ALWAYS knew."

Dean gathered him up in his arms. "Promised, didn't I?" he chuckled.

Sam and Bobby stood to one side, smiling at the heart-warming scene. Sam couldn't help but notice how much his little namesake resembled his brother. Dean proudly carried Samuel over to meet his uncle.

"Samuel, this is your Uncle Sam who's gonna help your daddy take care of you."

Sam shook Samuel's little hand formally. "Pleased to meet you, Samuel," he said with a grin.

After thanking Karen, they left Bobby to see her back home while they took Dean's, read their, son back to the refuge to plan their next move.

Finally united, the Campbells, rebranded the Winchesters, had a future to look forward too.

TBC

* * *

A/N: And finally the epilogue...


	17. Epilog

A/N: And, to round off, a short epilogue...

* * *

Bought And Sold (Chapter 17: Epilog) by frostygossamer

* * *

Sam uncurled his long body from the driver's seat of his tiny clunker of a car, parked outside his home. The ramshackle, sprawling fixer-upper they had found on the outskirts of Wichita was still a work-in-progress. He surveyed the front aspect. The fresh, new paintwork on the metal shutters looked great. Dean and the gang had evidently been hard at work.

It had been two years since he and Dean had moved into the old building - all they could afford - with the intention of setting up a men's shelter along the lines of Bobby's place back in Appalachia. The refuge was now almost full to bursting with needy and grateful guests.

It was Dean's baby. He was the guy in the man-matron's coverall.

Sam spent his working day with law firm 'Milton & Paradise', a legal outfit that dealt mainly with custody and discrimination cases. Once they had settled in, Sam had been able to complete his degree course by correspondence, although, as a male, that precious diploma would forever elude him. Since he had attended all the classes and read all the books, he had no trouble finishing the course with top marks.

It was largely a personal victory.

Bobby had put them on to Missus Milton, who had dealt with several of his 'customers' favourably. She was a liberal-minded woman and made a point of employing men in her company wherever she could. She had taken Sam on initially pretty much as an act of principle, and had kept him on because he proved to be damn good at his job. Since none of the other guys in the company were educated beyond the level of the mailroom, having a male legal clerk on staff was something of a signal of intent.

Sam enjoyed being the Ernie Brockovich of 'Milton & Paradise, Attorneys-at-law'.

He almost tripped over a bunch of happy kids, who where running around the backyard, and entered the house via the kitchen door. A delicious smell of food hit his nose the moment he stepped inside. Dean was standing beside the stove assembling a long line of hamburgers for distribution. Sam crept up behind him and slipped his hands around the shorter man's waist. Dean shook him off.

"Save that for the bedroom, Sammy," he mock-scolded under his breath, without ceasing his preparation.

Sam laughed and grabbed a piece of roll, stuffing it into his mouth as he settled himself in his usual seat at the end of the wood bench. In the interests of 'maximum occupancy', he and Dean shared one cozy, twin-bedded room, convenient for discreet, late-night tippytoeing between beds, whenever they felt the urge.

Samuel ran into the room with his best friend, and dashed straight up to Sam.

"Uncie Sam," he yelled. "Look what me and Jesse did today in class."

He waved a storybook in his uncle's face. It was called "Ben Can Be A Fire-fighter Too."

"I'm gonna drive a big red fire truck when I grow up," he claimed.

"Not gonna do what Uncle Sam does then?" laughed Dean, plonking a special veggie-burger in front of his brother.

"Yeah, that too," Samuel insisted. "And Jesse as well. We're both gonna be famous fire truck driving lawyers."

Sam grinned. "That's what we need, sonny. More legal fire-fighters."

"That'll be after you've save the world, huh?" Dean joked, flopping down across from Sam.

"Sure," piped up Jesse. "We're gonna save everyone, Uncle Dean, so everyone will be happy and free and equal, whether they're a girl OR a boy."

"That's the idea," the adults nodded, as the kids knuckled down to their burgers.

"Sometimes I reckon Jesse may be TOO freakin' smart," Dean commented to Sam.

Sam chuckled. "I wouldn't worry, babe," he said. "With kids like ours, tomorrow is gonna be a better place."

The End

* * *

A/N: So Sam and Dean live happily ever after with a bunch of kids who will have better chances. Hope you enjoyed my story. Please feel free to review if you did. :)


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